Rejected  of  Men 


By  Howard  Pyle 


M 


Rejected  of  Men 


A   Story   of   To-day 


By 


Howard  Pyle 


New  York  and  London 

Harper  &  Brothers  Publishers 


Copyright,  1903,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  June,  1903. 


I 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PROEM '. - ...  v 

CHAPTER 

I.  THE  VOICE  OF  ONE  CRYING  IN  THE  WILDER 

NESS i 

II.  HEROD  THE  TETRARCH 8 

III.  THE  PRIESTS  AND  THE  LEVITES      .     ....  13 

IV.  WHAT  WENT  YE  DOWN  FOR  TO  SEE?      .     .  30 
AN  INTERLUDE      .     .     .   *. 42 

V.  THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  WORKS     ....  52 

VI.  THE  YOUNG  MAN  WITH  GREAT  POSSESSIONS  63 

VII.  AMONG  THE  ROMANS 75 

VIII.  ONE  OF  THEM  NAMED  CAIAPHAS  BEING  HIGH- 

PRIEST  THAT  SAME  YEAR 88 

IX.  THE  MAN  BLIND  FROM  BIRTH    .....  96 

X.  A    VOICE    FROM    THE    DEAD 123 

XI.  NOTHING  BUT  LEAVES 154 

XII.  THE  ONE  THING  WE  LACK 171 

XIII.  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH 183 

AN  INTERLUDE * 199 

XIV.  VERITAS  DIVINIS,  VERITAS  MUNDI      .     .     .  209 

XV.  JUDAS 226 

XVI.  A  GLIMPSE  OF  AGONY 236 

XVII.  THE  END  OF  THE  WORLD 249 

XVIII.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  FLESH 253 


43-1887 


PROEM 

THIS  is  the  story  of  the  scribes,  pharisees, 
priests,  and  Levites,  and  of  certain  Romans. 
It  is  intended  as  a  phase  of  that  divine  history 
already  told  to  the  world,  but  now  told  from 
another  stand-point  and  translated  from  the  an 
cient  Hebrew  habits  of  life  into  modern  Ameri 
can,  so  that  the  reader  may  more  readily  under 
stand  the  circumstances  that  directed  our  actions. 
If  it  has  been  told  aright,  he  may  see  why  it  was 
that  we  crucified  the  Truth. 

We — scribes  and  pharisees — have  been  vilified 
and  abused  for  nineteen  hundred  years  because 
we  acted  as  the  circumstances  of  our  lives  com 
pelled  us.  The  fact  seems  to  be  overlooked  that 
we  were  not  born  publicans  and  sinners,  but  up 
right  and  virtuous  citizens,  and  that  it  was  out  of 
the  question  for  us  to  desert  our  own  class  and  to 
ally  ourselves  with  those  whose  only  recommen 
dation  appeared  to  lie  in  the  fact  that  they  were 
poor  and  lowly,  or  else  that  they  were  social  out 
casts  and  sinners.  We  could  hardly  be  held  to 


PROEM 

have  been  more  worthy  of  respect  if  we  had  vio 
lated  our  traditions  of  order  and  of  virtue  to 
accept  an  entirely  new  code  of  ethics  supported 
by  such  advocates;  which  code,  if  carried  out, 
meant  the  overthrow  of  all  that  we  held  most 
sacred  and  worthy  of  preservation. 

The  integrity  of  the  very  Church  itself  —  the 
foundation  of  our  entire  system  of  social  order 
—was  threatened  with  destruction,  and  it  was 
only  in  the  extremity  of  our  need  and  after  all 
other  courses  of  action  were  closed  to  us  that  we 
resorted  to  the  last  and  sternest  measure  to  save 
human  society  from  destruction. 

Surely  the  truth  is  so  unanswerable  as  to  be 
axiomatic,  that  it  is  better  that  one  man  should 
die  rather  than  that  the  very  laws  that  bind 
human  society  together  should  be  annihilated. 

Yet  for  nineteen  hundred  years  we  have  borne 
the  odium  of  having  wantonly  and  callously  per 
formed  a  cruel  and  unjustifiable  act. 

Everything  is  in  the  view-point.  The  whole 
aspect  of  creation  depends  upon  where  the  ob 
server  stands  to  look  at  it. 

Heretofore  these  great  events  of  sacred  history 
have  been  looked  upon  from  the  point  of  view  of 
that  central  and  dominant  Figure,  and  the  great 
plain  of  the  world  of  mankind  has  been  seen  re 
volving  dimly  and  remotely  around  it.  Our  point 

vi 


PROEM 

of  view — the  point  of  view  of  the  scribes  and  the 
Pharisees,  the  priests  and  the  Levites,  and  certain 
of  the  Romans — has  never  been  considered  and 
weighed  in  the  balance. 

This  is  intended  as  a  history  of  those  affairs  as 
we  saw  them,  and  from  that  view-point  the  divine 
Figure  that  shaped  a  new  system  that  was  to 
dominate  all  other  systems  is  beheld — when  seen 
at  all — not  as  the  pivot  upon  which  everything 
swings,  but  as  a  single  integer  of  society  at  large 
—a  centre  of  fermentation,  very  distant  from  us 
—disturbing  and  dangerous,  but  remote. 

For  while  we  now  and  then  saw  Him  near  by, 
for  the  more  part  He  hardly  entered  our  lives  to 
disturb  our  daily  affairs  until  towards  the  last  of 
His  career. 

This  story  that  follows  is  intended  by  way  of 
a  vindication,  and  we  challenge  all  scribes  and 
Pharisees  of  this  day  who  read  it  to  say  if  they 
themselves  would  have  acted  differently  under 
the  same  circumstances. 

The  world  is  the  world  and  is  a  very  mixed 
quantity,  being  composed  of  good  and  bad  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  maintain  the  perfect  mun 
dane  balance  that  God  has  ordained.  If  Herod 
was  an  unscrupulous  politician,  Caiaphas  was  a 
good  priest;  if  Pilate,  sitting  in  a  high  place  of 
authority,  temporized  to  his  own  advantage,  the 

vii 


PROEM 

young  man  of  great  possessions  who  sought  sal 
vation  was  an  honest  and  sincere  searcher  for 
the  truth — enthusiastic  and  impractical,  perhaps, 
but  sincere.  Such  as  these  are  a  very  few  of  the 
integers,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  that  go  to 
make  up  the  sum-total  of  earthly  life.  Such  as 
that  life  is  we  do  not  make  it — it  is  made  for  us ; 
and  we  must  obey  its  laws  and  fulfil  the  destiny 
that  Providence  has  assigned  to  us.  If  we  were 
made  virtuous  we  must  under  normal  conditions 
be  virtuous ;  if  we  were  made  vicious  we  must  be 
vicious ;  and  there  the  matter  ends. 

The  world  looks  very  big  to  us,  and  any  one 
who  dares  to  interfere  with  the  nice  adjustment 
of  its  affairs  him  we  always  crucify,  lest  he  bring 
destruction  upon  us  by  overturning  the  elaborate 
mechanism  of  our  social  order. 

In  this  lies  our  exculpation.  If  we  crucified 
the  Truth,  we  did  it  to  save  the  world  in  which  we 
lived. 

Bearing  this  in  mind,  the  reader  is  invited  to 
here  follow  our  story,  which  has  been  translated 
into  the  conditions  of  modern  American  life, 
and  then  to  decide  how  far  he  can  blame  us  for 
fulfilling  the  destiny  which  God  ordained  for  us. 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 


REJECTED   OF   MEN 


THE    VOICE    OF    ONE    CRYING    IN    THE 
WILDERNESS 

WHEN  John  the  Baptist  began  preaching 
none  of  us  of  the  more  intelligent  classes 
believed  him  to  be  really  a  prophet  forerunning 
the  coming  of  the  Messiah.  Indeed,  the  better 
part  of  the  world  knew  in  the  beginning  nothing 
of  his  presence  in  its  midst ;  nor  until  we  began  to 
be  aware  that  great  streams  of  ignorant  people 
were  pouring  out  of  the  cities  and  towns  and  de 
scending  to  listen  to  his  preaching  and  to  receive 
his  baptism,  were  we  aware  that  such  a  man  was 
in  existence. 

Then  the  public  journals,  those  echoes  of  cur 
rent  thought  and  opinion,  began  to  take  the  mat 
ter  up,  publishing  longer  and  longer  reports  con 
cerning  him;  commenting  upon  the  growing 
excitement,  the  cause  of  which  nobody  seemed 


::•;•  :V::R EJECTED    OF    MEN 

exactly  to  understand.     People  read  what  was 
printed  and  wondered  what  it  all  meant. 

Just  what  those  poor  people  who  flocked  to  the 
baptism  of  John  expected  to  see  or  to  hear — just 
what  they  expected  to  gain  through  his  minis 
trations,  it  was  impossible  to  say.  If  they  had 
any  real  thought  in  the  matter  they  did  not  tell 
to  the  world  what  it  was  they  thought. 

For  those  of  the  lower  class  do  not  talk  freely 
to  those  of  the  upper  class  about  their  ideas. 
With  their  intellectual  superiors  they  are  re 
served,  suspicious,  and  sometimes  sullen.  To 
the  trained  thinker  the  untrained  mind  appears 
remote,  and  its  reasonings  obscure. 

When,  for  instance,  Dr.  Caiaphas's  assistant 
gardener  came  to  that  good  clergyman  in  the 
middle  of  the  week  to  ask  him  if  he  might  be 
absent  from  work  till  the  Monday  following,  and 
when  the  rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Advent 
asked  the  man  if  he  were  not  going  down  to 
see  the  Baptist  and  why  he  went,  he  found  his 
question  confronted  by  just  such  logical  obtuse- 
ness  and  inconsequence. 

"Why,  you  see,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "I  did 
promise  Molly  I'd  take  her  and  her  sister  down  to 
be  baptized — that  is,  if  you  can  spare  me,  sir — 
and  there  ain't  much  doing  just  now." 

"  But  suppose  I  can't  spare  you,  Thomas?" 
2 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"Oh,  well,  sir,  it  doesn't  signify.  I  can  stay, 
and  Molly  and  her  sister  can  go  down  their- 
selves." 

It  was  then  that  the  rich,  wise  priest  tried  to 
get  at  the  mind  of  the  other  man  and  failed. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  go  down  to  the  baptism, 
Thomas?"  he  said.  "  Don't  you  get  enough  of 
God's  truth  preached  to  you  at  home  without 
having  to  go  there  to  find  it?" 

"It's  Molly  wants  to  go  more  than  me,  sir." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  yourself 
think.  Do  you  really  believe  that  this  man  has 
any  more  power  to  forgive  your  sins  than  I  have? 
Do  you  think  that  by  baptizing  you  with  a  little 
water  he  can  wash  away  in  a  few  seconds  all  the 
sins  you  have  committed  for  the  thirty-six  years 
of  your  life?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

"You  don't  know?  Then,  if  you  don't  know, 
what  is  it  you  go  for?  I  should  think  you  would 
want  to  know  all  there  is  to  know  before  you  ran 
away  from  God's  truth  preached  from  His  own 
holy  word  to  hear  what  a  madman  in  the  wil 
derness  has  to  say." 

"It's  more  on  Molly's  account  than  mine,  sir. 
The  women  do  think  a  deal  about  them  things, 
sir." 

"  But,  I  say,  I  want  to  know  what  you  yourself 
3 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

think.  You  ask  for  three  or  four  days  of  time  to 
go  away  from  your  work,  to  hear  this  man  preach. 
You  must  have  some  reason  for  doing  so.  Do 
you  really  believe  the  blasphemous  assertions  of 
this  mad  preacher  that  Almighty  God,  the  Cre 
ator  of  the  universe,  is  actually  going  to  send  His 
Messiah  down  into  the  midst  of  such  a  rabble  as 
is  gathered  there?" 

"  I  don't  need  to  go  if  you  can't  spare  me,  sir," 
said  the  under-gardener. 

Then  Dr.  Caiaphas  gave  up  the  unequal  con 
test.  There  was  no  reasoning  with  such  incon 
sequence.  It  was  like  fighting  the  wind,  and  he 
did  not  attempt  it  any  further. 

"You  may  go  if  you  choose,  Thomas,"  said 
he. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Thomas. 

It  is  probable  that  few  who  went  to  the  bap 
tism  of  John  could  assign  a  better  reason.  Dr. 
Caiaphas  appeared  to  be  right,  and  his  gardener 
appeared  to  be  entirely  wrong.  Men  of  to-day 
know  that  the  Truth  of  John  was  true,  and  that 
the  truth  of  Dr.  Caiaphas  was  a  mistake ;  but,  to 
us,  illuminated  with  the  light  of  our  superior  in 
telligence,  it  appeared  to  be  otherwise. 

One  of  the  journals  of  the  day  published  a 
number  of  sun-pictures  of  the  Baptist  and  of  his 
disciples.  Among  these  the  world  looked  upon 

4 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

a  picture  of  a  baptism — the  crowd  gathered  in  a 
dense,  motley  mass  upon  the  shore,  the  Baptist 
standing  knee-deep  in  the  water  surrounded  by 
penitents,  upon  the  head  of  one  of  whom  he  was 
in  the  act  of  pouring  water.  Another  such  pict 
ure  was  a  portrait  of  the  Baptist  himself.  He 
was  standing  in  full  sunlight  in  front  of  a  tent, 
and  was  surrounded  by  his  immediate  disciples. 
There  was  a  background  of  the  same  motley 
crowd  that  characterized  all  the  pictured  groups. 
The  central  figure  was  the  image  of  a  singularly 
wild  and  curious  figure — lean,  haggard,  unshaven. 
He  was  clad  in  loose  trousers  and  shirt,  over 
which  he  wore  a  rough  blouse  of  some  coarse, 
hairy  material,  strapped  about  his  waist  with 
a  broad  leather  belt.  His  lean  legs  were  bare, 
and  on  his  feet  he  wore  coarse,  heavy  brogans. 
His  pale  eyes  looked  out  directly  at  you  from 
under  brows  contracted  in  the  glare  of  the  sun 
light.  A  tangled  mop  of  hair  was  brushed  back 
behind  his  ears,  and  a  shaggy  beard  hung  down 
upon  his  breast.  One  hand  held  a  rough,  crook 
ed  staff,  and  the  other  loosely  grasped  a  shapeless 
hat.  The  pose,  the  expression  of  the  face,  the 
dress,  all  bespoke  to  the  intelligent  observer  as 
clearly  as  the  word  itself  could  have  done — mad 
ness — or  else  fanaticism. 

The  upper  world  looked  upon  this  picture, 
5 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

commented  upon  it,  even  laughed  at  it ;  for  there 
is  something  to  the  intelligent  mind  that  is  al 
most  ludicrous  in  the  irrational  and  superstitious 
religious  rites  of  the  ignorant  and  credulous  low 
er  world. 

The  printed  words  accompanying  the  group  of 
pictures  declared  that  you  had  only  to  look  upon 
the  portrait  of  John  the  Baptist  to  form  your 
own  conclusions  as  to  what  was  the  inspiration 
of  all  the  excitement  then  fermenting  among  the 
lower  masses.  They  said  that  the  sun-picture 
spoke  for  itself  without  the  need  of  comment,  and 
that  the  Baptist  either  was  insane  and  should  be 
placed  under  restraint,  or  else  that  he  was  an  in 
cendiary  of  the  most  dangerous  character,  and 
should  be  imprisoned  as  such  according  to  the 
law. 

It  gave  the  writer  an  excellent  opportunity  to 
deliver  a  blow  at  the  political  affairs  of  the  day. 
"  Herod,"  he  said,  "was  not  our  choice  for  sub 
ordinate  governor,  nor  was  he,  we  think,  the 
choice  of  the  better  element  of  the  community. 
He  was  placed  in  his  position  by  a  strange  coali 
tion  of  the  classes  and  the  masses,  and  he  is  now 
supported  in  power  by  just  such  a  rabble  as  are 
at  present  gathered  to  hear  this  mad  preacher's 
eloquence.  It  is  very  possible  that  Governor 
Herod  is  afraid  to  enforce  the  law  against  this 

6 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

man,  for  fear  he  should  lose  the  support  of  that 
ignorant  and  vicious  class  which  itself  is  the 
mainstay  of  his  political  power.  But  it  is  a  pity 
that  all  the  more  conservative  part  of  the  com 
munity  should  be  endangered  by  the  unlicensed 
preaching  of  this  madman,  simply  because  Herod 
desires  to  succeed  himself  in  his  present  position. 
Such  words  as  these  voiced  the  entire  thought 
of  the  law-abiding  scribes  and  pharisees.  The 
logic  appeared  to  us  to  be  very  true  and  unan 
swerable.  It  is  only  now,  in  later  days,  that  the 
world  has  come  to  know  that  we  were  wrong, 
and  the  motley  multitudes  that  surrounded  John 
the  Baptist  were  right.  But  what  thoughtful 
man  can  reasonably  condemn  us  for  holding  a 
position  so  rational  as  that  which  we  maintained  ? 


II 

HEROD    THE    TETRARCH 

IT  is  one  of  the  paradoxes  of  divine  operation 
that  dishonest  and  unworthy  men  should  so 
often  be  set  in  the  positions  of  rulers  of  other 
men.  Yet  it  is  so.  Integrity  and  honesty  are 
not  necessarily  a  passport  to  political  preferment. 

Everybody  knew  Herod's  character.  His  mor 
al  delinquencies  were  public  to  the  gaze  of  all 
men — the  unsavory  property  of  the  entire  com 
munity.  The  shame  of  his  marriage  with  the 
divorced  wife  of  his  own  brother  stank  in  the 
nostrils  of  all  the  decent  world.  He  was  a  man 
seemingly  without  any  principle  or  aim  in  life 
except  to  gratify  himself.  Yet  for  years  he  had 
occupied  high  public  position  and  was  supported, 
not  only  by  the  small,  dominant  class  who  found 
him  useful,  but  by  the  masses  as  well. 

But,  though  the  rulers  and  those  in  authority 
had  set  Herod  up  as  their  representative  in  pow 
er,  they  were  not  fond  of  him.  So,  when  John 
the  Baptist  began  to  fulminate  against  him  and 

8 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

his  moral  obliquities,  and  when  the  public  jour 
nals  began  to  publish  these  f ulminations  for  gen 
eral  reading,  Herod's  political  friends  rather  en 
joyed  the  situation.  They  laughed  at  him,  and 
even  jested  with  him  about  it.  They  knew  that 
he  was  powerless  to  punish  the  preacher,  for  he 
did  not  dare  to  alienate  the  lower  class  that  so 
largely  helped  to  uphold  him  in  power.  His  po 
litical  friends  knew  that  he  must  submit  to  what 
ever  attacks  were  made  against  him,  and  they 
enjoyed  his  helplessness  and  his  probable  suffer 
ings. 

When  he  would  drop  into  his  club  on  his  way 
home,  he  would  perhaps  be  hailed  with  an  inquiry 
as  to  whether  he  had  seen  the  evening  paper,  and 
that  there  was  lively  reading  in  it.  Another  ad 
vised  him  to  take  the  sheet  home  with  him  to  his 
wife,  and  that  she  would  be  interested  to  see 
what  was  being  said  of  her.  A  third  opined  the 
sauce  would  do  instead  of  tobasco  with  her  oys 
ters.  At  these  jocularities  Herod  would  maybe 
laugh.  Probably  he  did  not  much  mind  these 
attacks,  nor  the  pseudo-witticisms  with  which  he 
was  favored,  for  he  did  not  care  a  great  deal 
about  public  opinion  one  way  or  the  other. 

But  it  was  not  so  with  the  woman  whom  he 
called  his  wife.  She  writhed  under  the  lash  of 
the  spoken  words  and  the  printed  paragraphs 

9 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

with  a  feeling  sometimes  almost  as  of  physical 
nausea. 

She  was  writhing  now,  but  silently,  over  the 
evening  paper  which  she  had  brought  in  from  the 
library  and  which  she  was  just  then  reading.  The 
butler  came  in  and  lit  the  lamp,  but  she  did  not 
look  up  from  her  paper ;  she  was  too  intently  ab 
sorbed  with  the  pain  she  was  inflicting  upon  her 
self  to  notice  anything  else. 

Her  daughter,  Salome,  sat  at  the  window  look 
ing  out  into  the  dull  twilight  of  the  street.  She 
sat  with  one  foot  on  a  hassock,  her  elbow  upon 
her  knee,  and  her  chin  resting  upon  the  palm  of 
her  hand.  She  looked  listless  and  bored  as  she 
sat  staring  out  into  the  falling  twilight.  The 
two  women  were  singularly  alike,  only  that  the 
dark,  heavy  beauty  of  the  mother  was  merely 
brunette  in  the  daughter;  that  the  somewhat 
square  face  of  the  elder  woman  was  oval  in  the 
younger;  that  the  rouge  of  the  woman's  face  was 
the  dusky  red  of  nature  in  the  girl's  cheeks. 

The  words  Herodias  was  reading  must  have  cut 
suddenly  to  a  deeper  nerve,  for  she  drew  a  sharp 
breath  that  was  almost  articulate.  Her  white 
teeth  clicked  together.  She  made  a  sudden  mo 
tion  as  though  to  crush  the  paper  she  held ;  then 
she  went  on  reading  again.  The  girl  nodded  and 
smiled  recognition  to  some  one  passing  along  the 

10 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

gray  twilight  of  the  street.  Then  the  smile  slow 
ly  faded,  and  the  listless  look  settled  back  upon 
her  face  again. 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  crossing  the 
hall,  and  Herod  himself  came  into  the  room. 
He  was  a  rather  stout,  thick-set  man  of  about 
forty  or  forty-five.  He  wore  a  long  mustache, 
the  beard  beneath  being  closely  clipped  and 
trimmed  to  a  point.  The  cut  of  the  beard  and 
hair  gave  his  countenance  an  air  of  quality  that 
was  belied  by  his  puffy,  mottled  cheeks  and 
the  thick,  red,  sensual  lips.  Herodias  looked  up 
at  him  as  he  came  within  the  circle  of  light. 
''Did  you  see  this?"  she  said,  hoarsely,  hold 
ing  the  paper  out  towards  him.  She  pointed 
to  the  column  she  had  been  reading,  and  her 
fingers  trembled  with  the  intensity  of  her  self- 
repression.  The  paper  rustled  nervously  as  she 
held  it  out. 

"See  what?"  said  Herod.  "Oh,  that!  Yes, 
I  saw  that  down  at  the  club.  What  do  you  read 
it  for  if  you  don't  like  it?" 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  you  aren't  going  to 
do  anything  to  this  cursed  Baptist?  What  are 
the  laws  good  for,  anyhow?" 

Herod  grinned.  "They're  good  for  nothing 
when  an  election's  only  six  months  off." 

The  woman  tried  to  speak ;  she  could  not.  "  It's 
ii 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

a  damned  shame,"  she  cried  out,  at  last,  still  in 
the  same  hoarse  voice. 

Salome  turned  her  head.  "  Oh,  mamma,"  she 
said,  "how  awfully  vulgar." 

The  mother  glared  at  the  daughter.  She  look 
ed  as  though  she  were  about  to  speak,  but  she 
only  said,  " Pshaw!" 

There  was  a  minute  or  two  of  silence.  Herod 
stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "Was 
Corry  King  here,  do  you  know?"  he  said,  at  last. 

Herodias  shook  her  head.  Then  Herod  turned 
away  and  walked  across  the  room  towards  the 
library.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  quit  the  room, 
Herodias  spoke  again.  "  Did  you  get  that  box 
for  the  opera  to-night?" 

He  stopped  at  the  door  and  turned.  "  Yes,  I 
did,"  he  said. 

"Did  you  leave  orders  for  the  carriage?" 

"Yes;  I  ordered  it  for  eight  o'clock,  sharp." 
Then  he  went  on  out  of  the  room. 


M1 


Ill 

THE    PRIESTS    AND    THE    LEVITES 

R.  THEODORE  CAIAPHAS  was  rector  of 
the  Church  of  the  Advent.  It  was  said  of 
that  church  that  when  the  congregation  were  all 
at  the  sanctuary  and  seated  in  their  places  the 
building  contained  a  representation  of  capital 
equivalent  to  a  billion  dollars  of  wealth. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  describe  the  Church 
of  the  Advent,  for  nearly  everybody  knows  of  it ; 
even  those  who  do  not  live  in  the  metropolis  have 
seen  pictures  of  it.  It  occupied,  with  the  rectory, 
half  a  square  of  ground  in  one  of  the  most  valu 
able  parts  of  the  city.  It  was  estimated  that  if 
the  land  on  which  it  stood  were  covered  all  over 
with  ten-dollar  bills,  an  approximate  value  of  the 
real  estate  would  just  about  be  represented.  The 
church  itself  was  an  architectural  triumph,  with 
in  and  without.  It  was  built  of  white  marble, 
carved  elaborately  and  exquisitely ;  the  four  large 
windows  cost  it  cannot  be  told  how  many  thou 
sands  of  dollars,  and  the  interior  decorations  were 

13 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

all  that  art  could  make  them.  The  church  was 
connected  with  the  rectory  by  a  glazed  cloister  of 
exquisite  proportions,  and  the  rectory  itself,  re 
tired  well  back  from  the  street  behind  parti-col 
ored  beds  of  flowering  plants,  was  in  perfect 
keeping  with  the  church.  The  great  plate-glass 
windows  looked  out  across  the  little  lawn  upon 
the  busy  street  where  the  thunder  of  life  was  for 
ever  passing  and  repassing. 

One  time  the  Church  of  the  Advent  was  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  town ;  then  the  flood  of  business 
had  risen  to  it,  and  finally  overwhelmed  it  and 
its  surroundings.  At  the  time  of  this  story  the 
church  looked  down  upon  a  tumult  of  passing  life 
and  the  bells  clashed  out  their  chimes  almost  un 
heard  in  the  roar  that  rose  up  from  the  stony 
streets  below.  At  first  the  ceaseless,  roaring 
thunder  had  been  very  disturbing  to  Dr.  Caia- 
phas,  but  he  became  used  to  it  so  that  he  never 
noticed  it,  except  to  miss  it  in  the  stifled,  leaden 
silence  of  the  country  during  his  vacation.  The 
rectory  was  a  very  pleasant  home,  and  almost 
any  bright  day  one  could  see  children  playing  on 
the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house  (for  Dr.  Caiaphas 
had  quite  a  large  family),  and  occasionally  the 
rector  himself  might  have  been  seen  pacing  up 
and  down  the  gravelled  driveway —  especially 
on  a  Saturday  afternoon,  when  he  was  in  the 

14 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

throes  of  composing  his  addresses  for  the  mor 
row. 

Dr.  Caiaphas  was  a  very  notable  man.  He 
was  a  liberal  and  advanced  reformer,  not  only  in 
religious  matters,  but  in  political  and  social  mat 
ters  as  well.  Not  only  had  he  written  a  number 
of  pamphlets  attacking  those  lingering  super 
stitions  that  had  so  long  operated  as  a  clog  to 
check  the  church  in  its  advance  abreast  of  the 
progress  of  civilization,  but  he  had,  besides,  writ 
ten  hundreds  of  open  letters  and  papers  and  sev 
eral  magazine  articles  upon  the  social  problems 
of  the  age — the  labor  question,  the  question  of 
social  vice,  the  pauper  question,  and  other  sim 
ilar  topics.  His  passion  for  attacking  and  re 
forming  abuses  led  him  even  into  politics.  It 
was  largely  through  his  instrumentality  that  the 
committee  had  been  appointed  to  investigate 
into  the  affairs  of  the  police  department,  and 
great  things  had  been  looked  for  as  the  out 
come. 

When  it  is  taken  into  consideration  that  be 
sides  all  these  wide  outside  works,  his  was  one  of 
the  largest  parishes  in  the  metropolis,  it  may  be 
seen  that  Dr.  Caiaphas  was  an  extremely  busy 
man  and  an  extremely  useful  man. 

The  income  of  Dr.  Caiaphas  as  rector  of  the 
Church  of  the  Advent  was  forty  thousand  dol- 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

lars  per  annum ;  added  to  this  was  a  beautiful 
home,  rent  free. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  excess  of  wealth 
had  been  a  very  sharp  thorn  in  the  side  of  the 
doctor's  conscience,  but  at  the  time  of  this  story 
he  had  been  rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Advent 
for  nearly  twenty  years,  and  he  had  become  rec 
onciled  to  the  burden  of  good-fortune  that  the 
Divine  Wisdom  had  seen  fit  to  lay  upon  him  to 
bear.  He  lived  soft  and  warm;  he  was  fond  of 
works  of  art  and  of  beautiful  things,  and  he  was 
a  great  collector  of  rare  and  handsome  books — 
of  which  he  had  a  magnificent  library.  He  raised 
his  family  with  all  the  surroundings  of  luxury  due 
to  his  and  their  position  in  the  world ;  both  of  his 
sons  had  attended  college  and  were  then  abroad 
—the  younger  finishing  his  education  at  a  for 
eign  university ;  the  elder  being  an  attache  to  the 
embassy  at  the  court  of  another  foreign  power. 

It  was  a  matter  of  conscience,  with  Dr.  Caia- 
phas  thus  to  spend  his  money  lavishly  upon  his 
children  and  himself,  and  he  poured  out  his 
wealth  without  stint.  He  used  to  say,  "I  will 
not  hoard  what  has  been  given  me  to-day  for  the 
sake  of  a  possible  to-morrow.  I  will  trust  to  my 
Heavenly  Father  to  supply  my  needs  as  they 
arise." 

When  Dr.  Caiaphas  had  first  been  asked  to 
16 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

assume  the  rectorship  of  the  Church  of  the  Ad 
vent,  he  had  accepted,  not  without  reluctance. 
At  that  time  he  had  very  high  and  very  exalted 
ideas  as  to  his  mission  in  life,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that,  should  he  accept  this  magnificent 
call,  he  would,  in  a  certain  sense,  be  in  danger  of 
sacrificing  his  high  birthright  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  for  a  mess — however  rich — of  very  world 
ly  pottage.  So  at  first  he  had  been  inclined  to 
refuse ;  then,  in  thinking  the  matter  over,  it  oc 
curred  to  him  that  maybe  Providence  had  laid 
this  chance  in  his  path  that  he  might  take  it  up 
and  so  exercise  his  usefulness  in  the  wider  field 
of  metropolitan  life. 

He  sometimes  wondered  with  misgivings  wheth 
er  his  conscience  had  not  tallied  almost  too  patly 
with  his  inclination  in  the  matter.  Indeed,  he 
would  have  been  more  than  human  had  he  not 
appreciated  what  a  thing  it  was  to  be  rector  of  the 
Church  of  the  Advent.  It  is  probable  that  if  he 
had  been  asked  to  leave  his  church  in  the  coun 
try,  and  its  salary  of  five  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
and  to  take  up  an  obscure  church  in  the  metropo 
lis,  say,  at  a  salary  of  twenty-five  hundred  a  year, 
he  would  not  have  done  so,  even  though,  in  ac 
cepting  it,  he  might  have  widened  his  field  of  use 
fulness  ever  so  much.  But,  to  change  at  once 
from  the  old  Church  of  the  Messiah  to  the  fore- 

17 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

most  church  of  his  denomination  in  the  country 
—he  would  have  been,  indeed,  more  than  human 
if  he  had  not  appreciated  the  significance  of  such 
an  advance  in  his  life. 

In  his  former  work  Dr.  Caiaphas  had  seen  much 
of  poverty  in  a  provincial  town,  and  it  was  with 
him  as  it  was  with  other  people  in  the  smaller 
cities  and  communities — he  did  not  know  what 
it  meant  to  be  poor  in  a  great  city  such  as  the  me 
tropolis.  To  be  poor  in  a  small  city  is  altogether 
a  different  thing  from  the  dreadful  poverty  of  the 
great  congested  communities  where  rents  are  ex 
pensive  and  living  dear.  A  man  may  be  poor  in 
a  provincial  town  and  yet  have  a  comfortable 
home.  Oftentimes  his  home  becomes  squalid 
and  barren — it  becomes  bare  and  naked  and  strip 
ped  of  comforts  as  he  sinks  lower  and  lower  into 
the  quag  of  poverty;  but  he  still  has  room  in 
which  to  move  about  and  to  live,  and  he  still  has 
the  out-of-doors  close  at  hand  in  which  he  may 
walk  about  and  breathe  the  pure  air.  But  in  a 
great  city,  even  those  who  are  not  really  of  the 
pauper  class — even  those  who  have  work  to  do, 
and  make  what  is  called  a  comfortable  living — 
live  crowded  together  and  congested  in  black  and 
dismal  tenement  houses  that  fairly  reek  with  the 
stench  of  humanity  packed  within  their  walls. 
This  is  a  poverty  from  which  there  is  no  escape, 

18 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

and  to  which  there  is  no  out-of-doors  except  the 
noisy  and  dirty  street  with  its  ash-barrels,  its  gar 
bage,  and  its  refuse.  This  is  a  poverty  whose 
recreation  is  to  sit  out  upon  the  doorstep  that 
leads  into  the  dirty  street  or  upon  the  fire-escape, 
or,  in  hot  weather,  maybe  upon  the  roofs  among 
the  chimney-stacks  and  a  net -work  of  electric 
wires.  This  is  a  poverty  that  breeds  harlots  and 
criminals  as  corruption  breeds  maggots. 

For  all  this*  misery  Dr.  Caiaphas  was  in  no 
wise  to  blame,  but,  nevertheless,  when  he  first 
entered  into  the  parish,  coming,  as  he  did,  fresh 
from  a  wholesome  provincial  community,  he  felt 
that  the  condition  was  a  crime  to  which  he  him 
self  was  somehow  indirectly  a  party.  He  did  not 
see  wherein  the  fault  lay,  nor  yet  just  how  he  was 
responsible  for  it,  but  it  was  clear  to  him  that  it 
was  cruelly  unjust  that  he,  who  had  never  pro 
duced  anything,  who  had  never  created  anything, 
who  spent  his  life  in  preaching  to  rich  people 
who  had  no  need  for  divine  consolation,  and  who 
listened  to  his  sermons  for  the  sake  of  their  splen 
did  oratorical  periods — interested  rather  in  the 
novelty  of  his  ideas  than  in  their  humanitarian 
import — it  seemed  to  him  to  be  cruelly  unjust 
that  he,  doing  such  barren  work  as  this,  should 
enjoy  forty  thousand  dollars  a  year  and  live  so 
luxuriously  while  these  poor  men  and  women, 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

who  did  actually  create  the  real  uses  of  the 
world,  who  were  actually  now  adding  to  the 
wealth  and  the  prosperity  of  mankind — should 
be  packed  together  in  greasy  and  stinking  tene 
ment  bouses  like  vermin  in  so  many  boxes. 

Early  in  his  Hfe,  as  rector  of  the  church,  he  had 
made  one  futile  attempt  to  rectify  this  wrong 
to  which  he  felt  that  he  was  himself  helplessly 
party.  "I  cannot,  gentlemen/'  he  said,  conclud 
ing  a  speech  to  the  vestry — "  I  cannot  feel  free 
to  accept  a  fee  of  forty  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
besides  my  house,  rent  free,  and  to  live  in  lux 
ury  under  such  circumstances.  It  is  an  injustice 
which  I  did  not  create,  but  in  accepting  such 
munificent  rewards  I  make  myself  accessory  to 
it.  These  men  are  equally  human  beings  with 
myself,  and  betwixt  them  and  myself,  in  the  eyes 
of  God,  there  is  not  one  iota  of  fundamental  dif 
ference.  Not  only  have  they  the  same  desires 
as  myself,  but  they,  in  the  light  of  truth,  are 
God's  children  just  as  I  am  one  of  God's  children, 
and  each  and  every  one  of  them  is  the  inheritor 
of  a  heavenly  immortality  equal  to  mine  —  a 
heavenly  glory  that  shall,  perhaps,  exceed  mine 
to  come.  Feeling  this  as  strongly  as  I  do,  I  can 
not  consent  to  be  the  instrument  of  such  injus 
tice  and  such  inequality.  I  cannot  consent  to 
accept  for  the  few  trivial  years  of  this  lif e  such 

20 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

great  luxury  and  ease  of  living,  simply  for  the 
pleasure  it  affords  my  bodily  senses,  while  these 
other  human  beings  have  not  even  sufficient  food 
to  eat  or  sufficient  clothes  to  wear.  Therefore 
it  is  that  I  cannot  accept  any  such  fee  as  it  is 
your  pleasure  to  offer  me." 

The  chairman  of  the  vestry  was  Mr.  James 
Dorman- Webster,  probably  one  of  the  richest 
men  in  the  world.  He  smiled  kindly  as  the  min 
ister  concluded  his  address,  and  then  he  laughed. 
44 1  cannot  see  the  force  of  your  reasoning,  doc 
tor,"  he  said.  "If  you  could  strip  yourself 
down  to  the  barest  necessities  of  Hfe,  and  live 
upon  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day,  I  do  not  see  in 
what  way  you  would  benefit  these  people  whose 
poverty  is,  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hun 
dred,  the  result  of  their  own  improvidence.  The 
truth  is  that  you  work  as  hard  as  the  head  of  the 
nation,  and  I  am  sure  you  are  as  intelligent  as  he, 
and  earn  your  money  quite  as  well  as  he  does. 
Why  should  you  not  have  a  salary  equal  to  his, 
instead  of  less  than  his?  The  fact  is,  labor  given 
and  wages  rtctimd  ham  no  relation  whatever  with 
each  other,  but  an  mmly  tfffrtfrorjr  quantities." 
He  thrust  his  hand  into  the  breast-pocket  of  his 
coat  as  he  spoke  and  drew  out  a  pocket-book. 
Then  he  filled  out  a  check  and  handed  it  to  the 
doctor.  It  was  for  ten  thousand  dollars.  "Theae; 

21 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

doctor,"  he  said,  "take  that  and  distribute  it 
among  your  poor  as  you  choose.  When  you  find 
that  you  need  more,  appeal  to  your  vestry,  and  if 
they  ever  refuse  to  give  it  to  you,  then  it  will  be 
time  to  talk  of  giving  up  your  own  salary." 

It  was  pathetic — almost  tragic — the  inability 
of  this  well-meaning  priest,  of  Levitical  cast  and 
Roman  associations,  to  escape  from  under  the 
weight  of  forty  thousand  dollars  of  yearly  wealth 
that  God  had  seen  fit  to  lay  upon  his  shoulders. 
There  was  no  answer  to  be  made  to  the  practi 
cal  logic  of  Mr.  Dorman- Webster,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  any  sacrifice  the  rich 
priest  could  make.  There  was  the  check  just 
donated,  and  there  was  the  promise  of  as  much 
more  as  he  should  ask  for  in  reason.  Dr.  Caia- 
phas  might  just  as  well  have  walked  down  to  the 
river  and  have  thrown  his  salary  into  the  water 
as  to  refuse  to  take  it  now.  His  poor  would 
gain  nothing  by  the  refusal,  and  he  would  lose 
everything — even  his  influence  over  the  needy  of 
his  parish — for  poor  people,  though  they  resent 
riches,  have  no  respect  for  poverty  in  the  upper 
classes. 

Such  was  Dr.  Caiaphas.  His  was  a  mind  of 
that  logical,  well-balanced  sort  to  which  any 
thing  like  religious  fanaticism  or  excess  is,  of  all 
things,  most  repugnant.  There  was  nothing  so 

22 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

displeasing  to  him  as  religious  hysteria.  He  was 
wont  to  say,  "Does  any  man  think  that  God 
Almighty  is  deaf  that  He  needs  to  have  prayers 
shouted  into  His  ears?" 

All  the  religious  ferment  attending  the  preach 
ing  of  John  the  Baptist  was  not  only  distasteful 
to  him — it  was  positively  repulsive.  It  distressed 
him  beyond  measure  to  think  that  it  was  possi 
ble  for  one  man  like  this  John  to  so  stir  the  nether 
depths  of  humanity  that  all  the  purity  and  lu 
cidity  of  true  faith  should  become  turbid.  It 
was  incredible  to  the  wise  and  even-minded  priest 
that  any  man — be  he  never  so  poor,  or  ignorant, 
or  credulous — could,  in  that  age  of  light,  listen  to 
the  blasphemous  assertions  of  an  insane  fanatic, 
that  God  was  really  about  to  send  a  Son  into 
the  midst  of  such  a  turbulent  and  disorderly  tu 
mult.  How  was  it  possible  for  any  human  creat 
ure  to  conceive  that  the  Messiah  would  appear  in 
the  midst  of  such  a  rabble  as  that  gathered  in  the 
wilderness  to  a  mad  baptism  ?  Of  what  use  were 
the  teachings  of  his  twenty  years  of  rational  re 
ligion  if,  in  a  moment,  his  poor  parishioners  could 
so  rush  away  from  him  and  the  pure  and  lucid 
truths  of  faith,  trampling  those  truths  beneath 
their  feet  like  a  herd  of  swine,  in  their  rush  to 
hear  something  that  stirred  their  emotions  and 
was  new  and  startling  ?  He  had  thought  that  the 

23 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

poor  people  in  his  parish  were  fond  of  him,  and 
loved  to  listen  to  the  words  of  wisdom  he  was 
commissioned  to  speak.  Now  he  felt  that  they 
cared  nothing  for  him,  and  that  all  the  words  he 
had  spoken  to  them  had  fallen  upon  their  minds 
as  water  falls  upon  the  sand,  leaving  it  as  parched 
and  barren  as  before. 

Then  one  day  he  sent  out  addresses  to  all  the 
prominent  clergymen  of  the  different  denomina 
tions  of  the  city,  inviting  them  to  a  conference 
at  the  rectory  of  the  Church  of  the  Advent  to 
consider  what  was  to  be  done  to  counteract  the 
growing  disorder. 

Some  few  of  those  to  whom  these  addresses  were 
sent  did  not  respond,  but  nearly  all  who  received 
invitations  to  the  meeting  were  present.  Dr.  Caia- 
phas  was  a  very  notable,  even  a  famous  man,  and 
the  invitation  was  a  compliment  to  every  divine 
who  received  it. 

Nearly  all  who  were  present  were  strangers  to 
the  place,  and  it  was  an  interesting  study  of  hu 
man  nature  to  see  the  different  ways  in  which  the 
different  men  bore  themselves.  Those  who  were 
not  strangers  perhaps  assumed  an  air  of  inti 
mate  acquaintance  with  their  surroundings.  One 
young  man,  for  instance,  a  fashionable  clergy 
man  of  the  day,  who  had  not  been  in  the  house  a 
half-dozen  times,  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire 

24 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

smoking  a  cigar  with  an  air  of  perfect  and  au 
thoritative  ease.  "What  did  you  do  with  the 
little  Rembrandt  that  used  to  hang  yonder,  doc 
tor?"  he  called  across  the  room. 

The  doctor  laughed .  He  understood  the  work 
ings  of  the  young  clergyman's  mind.  "  Oh,  that 
hangs  in  the  upper  hall  now,"  he  said. 

Others  who  were  strangers  to  the  place  gazed 
about  them,  at  the  cases  of  beautifully  bound 
books,  at  the  walls  covered  with  paintings  and 
water -colors,  some  with  a  sort  of  half -furtive 
curiosity,  others  assuming  a  studied  and  obvi 
ous  air  of  indifference  to  the  richness  and  ex 
quisite  taste  of  everything,  others  evidently 
honestly  impressed  with  the  superabundance  of 
beautiful  things,  one  or  two  ill  at  ease — some 
few  even  overawed  at  the  magnificence  of  their 
surroundings. 

The  meeting  resulted  in  a  rather  rambling  sort 
of  talk ;  there  were  other  things  spoken  of  besides 
John  the  Baptist — mostly  general  topics  of  the 
same  sort — discursive  discussions  of  various  here 
sies.  The  relation  of  the  classes  was  talked  about, 
and  even  politics.  But  still  Dr.  Caiaphas  held  the 
discussion  pretty  steadily  to  the  topic  in  hand. 
Some  who  were  present  regarded  the  matter  as 
serious  enough;  others  were  inclined  to  permit 
themselves  a  sort  of  clerical  jocularity  concern- 

25 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

ing  it ;  he  himself  tried  to  throw  into  the  talk  the 
weight  he  felt  it  deserved.  Maybe  a  series  of 
addresses  from  the  pulpit  would  be  the  better 
way  of  reaching  the  attention  of  the  people,  he 
said.  Such  a  series  of  addresses  might  be  de 
livered  simultaneously  in  all  the  churches.  "  Oh, 
if  it's  a  matter  of  preaching  a  sermon,"  said  Mr. 
Munjoy,  a  minister  of  another  denomination— 
"  if  it's  a  matter  of  preaching  a  sermon,  why  I'm 
right  there.  To  tell  you  the  honest  truth  "- 
here  he  whispered  broadly — "  I'm  sometimes  so 
close  pushed  for  a  theme  to  preach  about  that 
I'm  only  too  glad  to  have  one  suggested  to  me." 

Some  of  those  present  laughed.  Dr.  Caiaphas 
smiled  faintly.  "  I  don't  think  that  we  are  ex 
actly  in  search  of  a  theme  to  preach  about,"  he 
said.  "  I  take  it  we  are  rather  called  together 
here  to  consider  some  mutual  effort  in  defence  of 
God's  truth." 

Mr.  Munjoy  laughed  and  helped  himself  to 
another  cigar. 

"What  impresses  me,"  said  Mr.  Bold,  a  young 
clergyman  with  strong  revolutionary  tendencies, 
"  is  that  we  shall  never  be  able  to  treat  this  sub 
ject  as  we  should  treat  it  unless  we  see  with  our 
own  eyes  what  is  being  done  at  these  baptisms, 
and  hear  with  our  own  ears  what  the  man  has  to 
say.  I  don't  believe  in  sitting  in  a  room  and  im- 

26 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

agining  how  a  thing  might  be,  and  then  combat 
ing  the  notion.  For  instance,  I  was  reading  your 
sermon  reported  in  the  Aurora  this  morning,"  he 
said,  addressing  himself  directly  to  Mr.  Lovejoy, 
a  mild-mannered,  fashionable  clergyman,  "about 
the  lost  woman,  you  know.  It  impressed  me 
you  were  talking  about  something  you  imagined 
rather  than  about  something  you  had  really  seen. 
Now,  did  you  ever  happen  to  study  intimately 
the  life  of  a  real  harlot?"  Mr.  Lovejoy  looked 
ineffably  shocked,  and  a  sudden  silence  fell  upon 
all,  while  Mr.  Bold,  in  spite  of  his  self-assurance, 
felt  uncomfortably  that  he  had  expressed  him 
self  unfortunately,  and  that  he  had  not  been 
understood.  "What  I  mean,"  he  said,  "is  that 
unless  you  really  know  something  about  what 
you  attack  from  the  pulpit,  I  fail  to  see  how  your 
attack  is  going  to  amount  to  anything.  Now,  I 
wonder  how  many  of  us  have  heard  this  man 
preach." 

"I'm  sure  I've  not,"  said  Mr.  Munjoy.  And 
there  was  not  one  of  all  of  them  who  had  thought 
it  worth  while  to  go  to  John  the  Baptist  to  hear 
what  he  really  had  to  say. 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Bold,  "  how  are  you  going  to 
attack  what  he  has  to  say  if  you  don't  know  what 
he  does  say?" 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  what  our 
27 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

friend  says,"  said  Dr.  Caiaphas,  after  a  moment 
or  two  of  thoughtful  silence. 

"  And  how  would  you  propose  to  approach  the 
matter  so  as  to  deal  with  it  knowledgeably?" 
asked  Dr.  Kimberly,  a  minister  of  still  another 
denomination. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dr.  Caiaphas.  "  I'm  sure 
the  conference  is  open  to  suggestions." 

"  How  would  it  do  to  send  down  a  committee 
of  five  to  interview  him,  and  to  ask  him  what  he 
has  to  say  for  himself?"  said  Mr.  Munjoy,  jocular 
ly.  And  then  there  was  a  murmur  of  laughter. 

"Really,  though,"  said  Mr.  Bold,  after  the 
laugh  had  subsided,  "  I  don't  know  that  that  is 
a  half  bad  suggestion." 

"  Bad !"  said  Mr.  Munjoy.  "  I  should  hope  not. 
I  hope  you  don't  think  that  a  minister  of  my 
denomination  would  suggest  anything  that  was 
bad."  And  then  there  was  another  laugh. 

The  idea  of  the  committee  had  been  proposed 
in  jest,  but  before  the  meeting  closed  it  was  con 
sidered  seriously,  and  was  finally  adopted.  There 
was  still  a  general  feeling  of  half -repressed  jocu 
larity  about  it  all,  but,  nevertheless,  the  com 
mittee  was  duly  appointed.  Mr.  Munjoy,  as  the 
proposer  of  the  committee,  was  nominated  for 
chairman,  but  he  declined  in  a  very  witty  and 
amusing  speech,  proposing  Dr.  Caiaphas  in  his 

28 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

stead.  Dr.  Caiaphas  was  not  at  all  pleased  with 
the  sense  of  levity  that  pervaded  the  meeting.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  subject  was  very  serious, 
and  he  replied  to  what  Mr.  Munjoy  had  said  in  a 
very  serious  manner.  He  wished,  he  said,  that 
some  younger  man  had  been  chosen.  Without 
at  all  desiring  to  shift  the  burden  from  his  own 
shoulders,  he  must  say  that  he  really  felt  that  his 
time  was  so  much  taken  up  with  the  work  of  the 
investigation  committee  appointed  to  examine 
into  the  police  department  that  it  would  be  al 
most  impossible  for  him  to  give  to  this  matter 
that  consideration  which  it  seemed  to  him  to  de 
serve.  Nevertheless,  if  it  was  the  will  of  those 
present  that  he  should  act  as  chairman,  he  would 
so  act  to  the  best  of  his  poor  powers. 


IV 

WHAT    WENT   YE    DOWN    FOR   TO    SEE? 

IT  was  a  lovely,  balmy  day — that  upon  which 
our  priests  and  Levites  went  down  to  the  bap 
tisms  of  John.  It  was  yet  early  in  March,  but 
the  day  was  as  soft  and  as  warm  as  a  day  in  May. 

When  the  clergymen  descended  from  the  train 
they  found  the  platform  crowded  with  those  who 
had  come  over  from  the  camp  to  meet  arriving 
friends,  and  everywhere  arose  a  confused  and 
inarticulate  hubbub  of  voices.  The  committee 
almost  forced  its  way  across  the  platform  to 
where  the  hacks  and  carriages  of  all  sorts  and 
kinds  stood  drawn  up  in  a  row,  and  whence  the 
voices  of  hackmen  dominated  loudly  all  the 
bustle  and  noise,  adding  their  quota  to  the  be 
wildering  confusion.  The  crowd  struggled  and 
pushed,  and  through  the  ceaseless  noise  and 
hubbub  there  sounded  the  thin,  keen  wail  of  a 
crying  baby. 

Mr.  Bold  chose  a  'bus,  the  committee  filled  it 
almost  more  than  full,  and  it  was  driven  off  im- 

3° 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

mediately,  among  the  first  to  quit  the  station.  A 
cloud  of  dust  surrounded  them  as  they  rattled 
along  the  level  road,  leaving  farther  and  farther 
behind  them  the  still  ceaseless  tumult  of  the 
crowded  platform,  above  which  loomed  the  loco 
motive,  smoking  and  hissing  gigantically. 

The  owner  of  the  'bus  stood  on  the  steps  be 
hind  clinging  to  the  door-frame.  "  Be  you  min 
isters?"  said  he. 

"Yes,"  said  one  of  the  party. 

"Come  to  the  baptism?" 

The  minister  laughed.     "  No,  not  exactly." 

"But,  talking  of  baptism,"  said  Mr.  Munjoy, 
"  I  wish  very  much  we  could  find  a  basin  of  water 
and  a  cake  of  soap  somewhere ;  it  was  very  dusty 
coming  down." 

The  hackman  leaned  to  one  side  and  spat  into 
the  dusty  road  that  sped  away  behind.  "Yes," 
he  assented ;  "  you  see,  we  'ain't  had  no  rain  now 
for  above  two  weeks." 

"  Pretty  bad  look-out  for  salvation,  I  should 
say,  if  the  dry  weather  holds,"  observed  Mr. 
Munjoy. 

Dr.  Caiaphas  sat  quiet  and  impassive.  The 
uncomfortable  feeling  had  been  growing  upon 
him  ever  since  he  left  home  that  he  was  upon  a 
grotesque  fool's  errand. 

The  road  over  which  they  were  now  passing 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

was  heavy  and  sandy.  The  sun  shone  down  upon 
it  warmly,  and,  early  as  was  the  season,  the  fresh 
grass  had  begun  to  show  itself  in  irregular  patches 
of  light  and  dark-green.  The  sky  overhead  was 
blue.  In  the  sunshine  it  was  warm,  but  those  on 
the  shady  side  of  the  coach  drew  their  overcoats 
closer  about  them.  Every  now  and  then  the 
hack  would  pass  little  groups  or  single  figures, 
all  plodding  along  in  the  direction  of  the  camp. 
Sometimes  there  were  larger  groups  of  men  and 
women  and  some  children  or  half -grown  girls. 
Some  of  the  men  carried  their  overcoats  over 
one  arm.  One  group  which  they  passed  consist 
ed  of  three  women,  one  man,  and  three  children. 
One  of  the  women — thin  and  frail-looking — car 
ried  a  young  baby,  and  the  two  other  tired  chil 
dren  dragged  themselves  along,  holding  each  by 
a  hand  of  another  of  the  women.  All  these  peo 
ple  were  of  the  commoner  sort.  Some  appeared 
to  be  working-men  with  their  wives,  others  ap 
peared  not  even  to  be  laboring  men,  but  of  that 
great,  underlying,  nameless  class  that  is  still 
lower  in  the  scale  of  social  existence  than  the 
class  of  producers.  Most  of  these  people  were 
evidently  dressed  in  their  best  clothes,  as  though 
for  a  holiday. 

After  riding  for  maybe  a  mile,  the  hack  turned 
a  bend  in  the  road,  and  from  the  summit  of  a 

32 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

little  sandy  rise  of  ground  the  committee  came 
within  sudden  sight  of  the  camp. 

Every  one  of  them  was  surprised  at  the  extent 
of  the  encampment.  As  they  looked  down  upon 
it,  it  stretched  away  like  a  great  town  of  tents 
and  huts.  In  some  places  the  tents  and  frame 
sheds  were  clustered  in  a  confused  mass,  in  other 
places  they  were  separated  into  streets  and  ave 
nues.  Upon  the  outskirts — the  suburbs  of  this 
nondescript  town — were  everywhere  clustering 
groups  of  carts  and  wagons  and  restless  crowds 
of  people  which  grew  thicker  and  thicker  in  the 
camp,  becoming  here  and  there  congested  into 
restless,  moving  ganglia  of  humanity.  These 
disconnected  groups  of  people  gathered  most 
thickly  along  the  banks  of  the  stream,  and  far 
away  in  the  distance  was  a  greater  crowd  sur 
rounding  some  central  point  of  interest.  The 
visitors  surmised  that  John  the  Baptist  was  the 
centre  of  that  crowd.  Beyond  the  stream  were 
a  few  scattered  huts,  and  beyond  that  a  level, 
green  marsh.  "An  inlet  from  the  sea  made  in 
pa$t  a  broken,  sandy  headland.  Beyond  that, 
in  the  distance,  was  a  wide,  sparkling  stretch  of 
water  with  the  far,  blue  line  of  the  farther  shore. 
Above  all  was  the  windy  arch  of  sky  looking 
down  peacefully  and  calmly  upon  the  clustered, 
restless  masses  of  human  beings  below.  There 
3  33 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

was  an  indefinable  odor  of  salt  in  the  air,  and 
the  wind  came  across  from  over  the  marsh,  fresh 
and  cool. 

The  hack  rattled  down  the  road  and  into  the 
camp  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  It  was  about  noon  and 
many  of  the  people  were  eating  their  mid-day 
meal.  Everywhere  there  were  clusters  of  men 
and  women,  sitting  in  farm  wagons  or  carts 
munching  their  food  and  talking  among  them 
selves. 

The  driver  drove  for  some  little  distance  into 
the  camp,  checking  his  horses  every  now  and 
then  and  hallooing  to  the  men  and  women  in  his 
road,  who  scattered  right  and  left  to  make  way 
for  the  rather  headlong  rate  at  which  he  drove. 
At  last  he  stopped  in  front  of  a  big  frame  shed 
with  a  rude  sign  above  the  doorway,  informing 
the  passers  that  there  refreshment  was  to  be  had 
at  a  cheap  and  popular  price.  The  shed  was 
open  at  one  end,  and  within  you  could  see  rows 
of  benches  and  long  deal  tables.  Here  the  com 
mittee  got  out,  one  by  one,  and  stood  looking 
about  them. 

Along  the  wide,  street-like  space  there  fronted 
a  long,  disjointed  line  of  huts  and  tents  of  all 
sorts  and  kinds.  The  air  was  full  of  an  indescrib 
able  odor  as  of  raw  boards  and  crushed  grass. 
The  street  was  full  of  a  restless,  passing  stream 

34 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

of  men  and  women  and  boys,  and  everywhere 
was  the  ceaseless  buzz  of  talking,  now  and  then 
dominated  by  the  call  of  some  one  hallooing  to  a 
distant  comrade. 

The  visiting  clergymen  had  no  doubt  whither 
to  bend  their  steps.  All  the  crowd  seemed  to 
drift  and  centre  in  one  direction,  and  they  knew 
that  thither  they  would  find  him  whom  they 
sought.  As  they  passed  down  along  the  front  of 
the  different  tents  and  huts  and  shanties,  they 
heard  everywhere  the  clatter  of  dishes  and  smelt 
the  odor  of  cooking.  Here  and  there  a  hut  bore 
a  sign  indicating  that  there  lodging  was  to  be 
had.  At  one  place  they  passed  by  where  a  man, 
evidently  stupefied  with  drink,  lay  in  the  sun 
by  the  side  of  a  little  frame  hut  with  a  canvas 
cover.  A  thin,  bony  woman  was  cooking  a  meal 
of  food  at  a  stove  behind  the  hut,  and  the  com 
bined  smell  of  the  smoke  and  frying  food  filled 
the  air.  Two  little  children  came  around  the 
side  of  the  hut  and  stood  looking  at  the  com 
mittee  as  it  passed. 

The  motley,  restless  crowd  grew  thicker  and 
thicker  as  the  committee  approached  the  spot 
where  they  knew  John  must  be  found,  and  at 
last  they  had  some  difficulty  in  pushing  their 
way  through  the  congested  groups.  As  they  el 
bowed  their  way,  the  crowd  would  look  at  them 

35 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

and  then,  seeing  they  were  ministers,  would  make 
way  for  them.  Suddenly  they  came  upon  the 
Baptist,  almost  before  they  had  expected  to  find 
him.  He  was  eating  a  meal  of  indescribable 
food,  sitting  upon  the  ground,  holding  the  plate 
upon  his  knees.  He  was,  indeed,  a  shaggy,  wild- 
looking  figure,  thin-faced,  sallow,  with  filmy,  rest 
less  eyes  and  a  black,  coarse  mat  of  hair  and 
beard.  He  wore  the  same  dress  of  hairy  cloth 
that  the  picture  in  the  public  journal  had  repre 
sented.  The  heavy  brogans  were  wet  and  soak 
ed  with  water,  his  legs,  showing  above  the  shoe- 
tops,  were  lean  and  hairy.  A  little  cluster  of  his 
disciples,  or  attendants,  surrounded  him;  some 
of  them  were  eating  their  food,  others,  who  had 
finished,  were  lying  stretched  upon  the  ground 
talking  in  an  undertone.  They  were  all  rough, 
common  -  looking  men,  several  of  them  appar 
ently  fishermen.  Surrounding  this  group,  and 
at  a  little  distance,  the  people  stood  in  a  crowd 
looking  intently  at  the  Baptist.  The  committee 
also  stood  for  a  while  looking  at  him ;  then  Dr. 
Caiaphas  came  forward. 

As  the  priest  approached,  the  Baptist  looked 
towards  him  with  vacant,  lustreless  eyes.  The 
sun  suddenly  came  out  from  behind  a  passing 
cloud  and  shone  full  upon  his  face,  but  he  did  not 
wink  his  eyes  nor  shade  them  from  the  glare. 

36 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"My  friend,"  said  the  rector  of  the  Church  of 
the  Advent,  "  my  name  is  Theodore  Caiaphas.  I 
do  not  know  whether  you  have  heard  of  me  or 
not,  but  I  have  heard  of  you.  I  am,  as  you  see, 
an  ordained  priest.  I  and  my  friends  " — here  he 
indicated  the  others  of  the  committee — "have 
come  down  to  learn  just  what  it  is  you  preach, 
just  what  your  opinions  are,  and  just  what  you 
advocate.  Will  you  tell  me,  first  of  all,  who  you 
are?" 

John  sat  looking  intently  but  vacantly  at  him. 
He  did  not  speak  for  a  little  while.  Then  he  said, 
in  a  sudden,  loud  voice,  "  I  am  not  the  Christ." 

"So  I  understand,"  said  Dr.  Caiaphas.  "  But 
are  you  a  prophet — such  a  one,  for  instance,  as 
Elijah?" 

"  I  am  not,"  said  the  fanatic,  still  in  the  same 
loud  voice. 

"Ah!  Then  you  are  not  even  a  prophet?" 
said  Dr.  Caiaphas. 

"No." 

"  Who  are  you,  then  ?"  said  Dr.  Caiaphas ;  "  and 
what  are  you?  Tell  us  who  you  are,  that  we 
may  give  an  answer  to  them  that  sent  us."  He 
tried  not  to  feel  the  absurdity  of  the  situation, 
but  some  of  the  other  clergymen  laughed. 

John  turned  up  his  face  and  looked  almost  di 
rectly  into  the  dazzling  light  of  the  sun  above. 

37 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

He  raised  his  lean  arms,  with  his  hands  outspread 
and  his  fingers  stretched  wide  open.  "  I  am," 
he  cried,  in  a  loud  voice,  "the  voice  of  one  cry 
ing  in  the  wilderness :  Make  straight  the  way,  as 
said  Isaiah,  the  prophet." 

Again  two  or  three  of  the  committee  laughed. 
The  disciples  of  John  looked  sullenly  at  them, 
but  the  Baptist  himself  paid  no  attention  to 
them. 

"  Then,  let  me  understand,"  said  Dr.  Caiaphas, 
speaking  also  in  a  loud  voice  so  that  all  might 
hear — "then,  let  me  understand  just  what  it  is 
you  have  to  say  for  yourself.  Let  me  hear  just 
what  is  your  claim,  for  it  is  for  that  reason  that 
we  have  come  hither.  What  I  want  to  under 
stand,  and  what  all  these  poor  people  here 
should  clearly  understand,  is  this:  If  you  are 
not  the  Christ — and  you  yourself  say  you  are 
not — nor  such  a  one  as  Elijah,  nor  one  having 
authority  to  preach,  as  the  saints  of  the  Church 
had  authority — if  you  are  only  a  voice  preaching 
in  the  wilderness,  by  what  right  do  you,  then, 
baptize  and  grant  remission  of  sins?  By  what 
authority  do  you,  then,  forgive  men  their  sins?" 

John,  still  with  eyes  uplifted  and  with  hands 
outspread,  cried  out:  "  I  baptize  with  water,  but 
in  the  midst  of  you  there  stands  one  whom  you 
know  not,  whose  shoes  I  am  not  worthy  to  bear." 

38 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Other  words  he  uttered,  as  uncomprehendable 
to  the  clergymen  as  these.  He  still  held  his  arm 
upraised  and  his  hand  outspread  for  a  little. 
Then  he  ended  suddenly,  and  as  suddenly  let  his 
hand  fall  from  his  knee,  and  sat  looking  about 
him  as  though  to  see  what  effect  his  words  had 
upon  those  who  heard  them.  One  of  the  com 
mittee  laid  his  hand  upon  Dr.  Caiaphas's  arm. 
"  Do  you  not  see  that  it  is  useless  to  waste  time 
here?"  said  he.  "What  good  can  come  of  it, 
doctor?  It  is  plain  to  me  that  the  man  is  mad. 
Any  one  with  eyes  to  see  and  ears  to  hear  may 
see  and  hear  that  for  himself.  Mr.  Hicks  tells 
us  that  the  up-train  will  be  due  in  twenty-five 
minutes.  We  have  just  comfortable  time  to 
make  it.  If  we  miss  it,  we'll  have  to  wait  till 
five  o'clock,  and  not  get  into  town  till  after  dark. 
I  am  sure  that  I,  for  one,  have  seen  enough  to 
convince  me  of  the  man's  insanity  without  lis 
tening  any  further  to  what  he  has  to  say." 

Dr.  Caiaphas  looked  at  his  watch.  "Well," 
he  said,  reluctantly,  "  I  suppose  we  might  as  well 
return.  I  would  like  to  have  heard  him  preach 
to  the  multitude,  though,  and  to  see  how  he 
baptizes  them.  However,  I  quite  agree  with  you 
that  he  is  not  right  in  his  mind,  and  I  suppose 
it  would  be  only  a  mere  matter  of  curiosity  to 
remain  longer." 

39 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

If  Dr.  Caiaphas  had  on  his  way  down  from 
New  York  feared  that  he  was  on  a  fool's  errand, 
he  was,  indeed,  certain  of  it  now.  He  did  not 
say  anything  until  the  committee  was  on  its  way 
back  to  the  station  in  the  hack.  Then  he  spoke. 

"I  am  sorry,  gentlemen,  that  I  should  have 
brought  you  all  the  way  down  here  only  for  this. 
I  am  afraid" — with  a  smile — "that  the  commit 
tee  did  not  get  much  satisfaction  from  the  inter 
view." 

Mr.  Munjoy  laughed.  "  I  am  sure,"  he  said, 
"that  we  are  all  very  glad  to  have  suffered  a 
little  inconvenience  to  have  satisfied  Dr.  Caia 
phas." 

The  words  were  good-natured  enough,  but  they 
made  Dr.  Caiaphas  still  more  uncomfortable. 
"Indeed,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  to  be  satisfied, 
but  that  was  not  exactly  my  object  in  bringing 
you  all  down  here.  I  am  sorry  that  you  have 
taken  a  journey  that  is  uncomfortable  to  your 
selves  only  to  satisfy  me." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Munjoy,  laugh 
ing.  "  This  time  to-morrow  we'll  have  ceased 
to  think  anything  about  the  inconveniences  of 
to-day.  I  am  sure  many  of  us  have  squandered 
a  half-day  ever  so  much  more  uselessly  than 
this." 

Then  there  was  nothing  more  said. 
40 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Thus  I  have  endeavored  to  describe  that  inci 
dent  as  nearly  as  possible  as  it  occurred.  Since 
then  a  sentimental  lustre  has  arisen  to  envelop 
it,  and  the  world  has  come  to  accept  it  that  those 
priests  and  Levites  were  blind  in  that  they  did 
not  at  once  see  the  truth.  But  I  think  intelligent 
humanity  will  agree  that  it  was  impossible  for 
the  priests  and  Levites  among  us  to  accept  the 
divine  truth  in  such  an  astonishing  guise  as  that 
which  they  then  beheld. 

It  is  entirely  true  that  God  moves  ever  in  ways 
incomprehensible  to  the  finite  mind.  His  wis 
dom  is  not  according  to  our  wisdom,  nor  His 
order  according  to  our  order.  But  it  cannot  be 
possible  that  He  expects  us,  scribes  and  phari- 
sees,  whom  He  has  endowed  with  intelligence  and 
reason,  to  accept  that  which  was  so  unintelligent 
and  so  unreasonable.  If  He  endows  us  with  rea 
son,  He  cannot  expect  us  to  accept  that  which  is 
unreasonable.  Who  is  there  of  our  class  to-day 
who  would  not  have  revolted  against  the  bap 
tism  of  John  when  it  was  first  instituted? 


AN    INTERLUDE 

IT  is  necessary  here,  and  at  another  place,  to 
1  introduce  an  interlude  into  the  story.  These 
interludes  are  designed  as  threads  to  connect  the 
different  parts  of  the  narrative  together.  They 
are  each  a  suggestion  instead  of  a  description; 
for  even  a  description  of  things  holy  would  too 
much  shock  the  sense  of  propriety  of  us  scribes 
and  pharisees. 

For  the  accepted  religion  of  the  civilized  world 
has  become  so  enveloped  with  wrappings  of  spir 
itual  ideality  that  it  is  impossible  to  strip  away 
those  investments  and  to  show  the  reality  in  all 
its  nakedness.  Such  an  exposure  would  too 
much  violate  our  accepted  religious  ideas.  It 
would  not  do  for  any  man  to  tell  just  how  it  was 
that  Christ  actually  did  appear  in  the  midst  of 
that  motley  multitude ;  nor  would  it  do  for  any 
pharisee  among  us  to  listen  to  the  story. 

Either  the  truth  would  sound  blasphemous,  or 
else,  if  it  were  accepted  and  received,  then  we 
scribes  and  pharisees,  priests  and  Levites  of  to- 

42 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

day  would  rise  up  and  stone  it  and  crucify  it 
exactly  as  we  did  of  old. 

Since  those  times  we  have  grown  accustomed 
to  say  that  we  believe  in  Christ — even  though  we 
do  not  really  believe.  Expressed  belief  and  real 
belief  are  very  different  matters.  What  we  think 
we  believe  in  is  not  the  living  Christ  as  He  was 
in  the  flesh,  but  a  Christ  we  have  created  for 
ourselves  —  a  white-robed,  visionary  figure  that 
passes  through  the  world  of  humanity  like  a 
spirit  rather  than  like  a  man  of  flesh  and  blood. 

For  the  story  of  Christ  is  surrounded  by  the 
narrative  of  such  incredibly  miraculous  happen 
ings  that  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  create  such  a 
spiritual  image,  or  else  we  cannot  believe  those 
narratives  at  all.  It  is  with  us  now  as  it  was  in 
those  ages  past — we  cannot  bear  to  have  the 
spiritual  image  of  truth  blasphemed  by  the  liv 
ing  fact.  In  our  souls  we  disbelieve  that  which 
seems  to  us  to  be  unbelievable.  We  endeavor 
to  stimulate  faith,  first  by  saying  that  we  believe, 
and  then  by  creating  for  ourselves  an  imaginary 
image  of  Christ  who  might  have  performed  the 
miracles  if  He  had  really  lived. 

Nearly  all  intelligent  and  thoughtful  men 
really  do  believe  in  the  existence  of  an  infinitely 
intelligent  and  infinitely  powerful  deity. 

For  a  man  has  but  to  gaze  about  him  and  he 
43 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

beholds,  with  the  eyes  of  his  flesh,  infinity  itself 
— infinity  of  what  is  great;  infinity  of  what  is 
minute ;  infinity  of  time ;  infinity  of  space. 

These  are  actual  entities,  for  we  know  that 
there  never  was  and  never  can  be  a  time  in  which 
there  was  no  created  thing — not  even  vacuum — 
and  we  know  that  there  can  be  no  limit  to  space 
in  which  everything — even  space  itself — ceases 
to  exist.  The  very  material  universe  exists  in 
finitely,  and  we  behold  with  the  eyes  of  the  flesh. 
We  do  not  comprehend  it,  yet  we  know  that  it 
really  is. 

In  the  hollow  vault  of  night  we  behold  count 
less  myriads  of  huge  and  flaming  suns,  scattered 
like  dust  through  the  sky,  or  sparkling  in  points 
of  radiance,  and  we  know  that  that  created  stel 
lar  system  extends,  without  limit,  into  the  empti 
ness  of  limitless  space.  We  know  that  each  in 
credibly  gigantic  sun  —  flaming  with  light  and 
heat — follows  a  perfect  and  well-assigned  orbit. 
We  know  that  about  each  of  these  glorious  suns 
there  must  revolve  scores  of  planets,  like  this 
earth  upon  which  we  stand. 

Seeing  this  fact  with  our  eyes,  it  is  not  possi 
ble  for  the  reason  to  suppose  that  all  this  well- 
ordered  and  perfect  system  of  enormous  stellar 
and  planetary  system  was  created,  is  governed,  is 
sustained  by  blind  and  chaotic  chance.  Chance 

44 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

never  built  even  so  much  as  a  brick  wall.  How 
could  it,  then,  create  a  living  sun  whose  heat  and 
light  give  life  to  the  planets  that  revolve  about 
it? 

There  must  be  a  Creator  for  these  things — a 
Creator  infinitely  potent,  infinitely  intelligent— 
or  else  those  things  could  not  have  been  created. 

On  the  other  hand,  man  looks  about  him  upon 
the  earth,  and  there  he  beholds  an  equally  and 
infinitely  perfect  creation.  For  every  one  of  the 
myriad  blades  of  grass,  and  every  one  of  the 
myriad  leaves  of  the  trees,  and  every  one  of  the 
myriad  flowers  of  the  field,  is,  in  itself,  as  tre 
mendously  perfect  in  its  every  minutest  partic 
ular  as  is  the  greatest  sun  that  flames  in  the 
empty  heavens.  Not  only  does  it  live  in  a  mi 
nute  and  orderly  sequence  of  progressive  exist 
ence,  but  it  possesses  an  infinitely  vital  power 
of  procreation,  so  that  each  tiny  seed,  under 
proper  circumstances,  has  the  power  of  filling 
the  entire  universe  with  its  progeny. 

Every  bird,  beast,  and  fish  is  not  only  exactly 
fitted  into  its  surroundings — not  only  is  each  per 
fect  even  unto  every  hair,  feather,  and  scale- 
not  only  is  each  endowed  with  a  vitality  that  en 
ables  it  upon  an  instant  to  adapt  itself  to  the 
circumstances  of  its  existence;  but  each  in  it 
self  is  endowed  with  the  same  potentiality  of 

45 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

• 

indefinitely  procreating  its  kind  with  equal  bod 
ily  perfection. 

These  things  can  neither  be  created  nor  sus 
tained  excepting  by  an  intelligent  Creator  who 
makes  and  sustains  them;  for  it  is  impossible 
for  any  reasoning  man  to  suppose  that  vacu 
ity  and  death  has  created  that  which  is  a  fact 
and  is  alive  —  that  nothingness  can  have  cre 
ated  that  which  is  not  only  perfect  in  itself, 
but  which  is  endowed  with  such  infinite  poten 
tiality. 

And  at  the  apex  of  all  creation  stands  man 
himself,  so  nicely  and  perfectly  adjusted  to  the 
conditions  that  surround  him  that  it  takes  only 
a  few  degrees  in  the  variation  of  so  small  a  thing 
as  the  temperature  of  the  air  to  destroy  him  or 
to  sustain  his  life.  And  each  man  possesses  not 
only  volition,  but  thought  and  reason  to  such 
particularity  that  each  tiny  idea  may  be  con 
tinued  to  infinity ;  or,  when  applied  to  the  things 
of  nature,  may  evolve  a  physical  phenomenon 
that  can  affect  or  transform  the  entire  economy 
of  the  world  in  which  he  lives. 

Whence  comes  this  perfect  and  intelligent  life  ? 
Man  does  not  cause  himself  to  think,  nor  does  he 
cause  himself  to  live.  He  may  shape  and  direct 
his  thoughts,  but  intelligence  comes  to  him  with 
out  his  own  volition.  He  receives  these  things, 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

but  he  does  not  cause  either  the  one  or  the  other 
to  be  created. 

That  which  causes  life  and  intelligence  to  exist 
and  to  inflow  into  man  is  and  must  be  infinite 
vitality  and  infinite  intelligence — an  omniscient 
Creator — or  else  these  things  must  spring  from 
nothing. 

Thus  any  man  who  thinks  and  reasons  within 
himself  must  perceive  that  there  actually  is  and 
does  exist  a  divine  and  infinite  Creator. 

But  that  which  we  scribes  and  pharisees, 
priests  and  Levites,  cannot  really  accept  is  the 
fact  that  this  infinite  Creator — this  tremendous 
God,  who  sustains  the  universe  and  who  flings 
blazing  suns  and  planets  by  the  handful  through 
the  heavens — that  this  omnipotent,  omniscient, 
omnipresent  Divinity  should  actually  have  be 
come  finitely  incarnate  upon  this  earth.  It  is 
still  more  impossible  for  us  to  believe  with  our 
reason  that  the  humble  wife  of  a  common  car 
penter  should  have  given  Him  birth  as  a  little, 
whimpering,  helpless  babe  among  the  cattle  of  a 
stable  in  Palestine. 

Our  caste  has  been  compelled  by  the  force  of 
circumstances  to  accept  this  as  a  dogma,  but  we 
cannot  believe  it  in  our  hearts.  Consequently 
we  build  for  ourselves  an  ideal  Christ  who  is  so 
different  from  the  actual  Christ  that,  were  the 

47 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

real  Christ  to  appear  to-day,  we  would  crucify 
Him  exactly  as  we  did  nineteen  hundred  years 
ago. 

It  is,  indeed,  the  crowning  truth  of  the  ages 
that  Jehovah  did  enter  finitely  into  the  flesh  of  a 
man ;  that  He  was  miraculously  conceived ;  that 
He  was  born  in  a  stable  in  Bethlehem,  and  that 
His  mother  was  the  wife  of  a  journeyman  carpen 
ter,  who  had  a  carpenter-shop  in  Nazareth.  But 
that  truth  is  not  for  us;  consequently  we  either 
become  sadducees  and  deny  the  resurrection  of 
the  soul,  or  else  we  are  pharisees  who,  with  a 
helpless  hypocrisy,  try  to  cause  ourselves,  by 
some  hocus-pocus  of  inverted  reasoning,  to  be 
lieve  that  which  we  do  not  believe. 

We  do  not  really  believe  that  the  actual  laws 
of  nature  were  ever  so  preposterously  violated  as 
the  Scriptures  tell  us.  No  rational  pharisee  ever 
really  believed  that  water,  at  a  touch,  can  be 
actually  transmuted  into  wine ;  or  that  dead  and 
gangrenous  flesh  ever  was,  at  a  touch,  actually 
transformed  into  healthy  tissues;  or  that  eyes 
organically  imperfect  ever  were,  at  a  touch, 
made  to  receive  the  light  like  healthy  orbs. 

Either  we  falsify  ourselves  by  saying  that  we 
believe  these  things,  or  else  we  benumb  our  rea 
soning  so  as  not  to  think  about  them  at  all. 
Many  of  us  would  fain  expurgate  those  miracu- 

48 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

lous  narratives  from  the  divine  word,  retaining 
only  such  spiritual  and  intangible  ideas  as  are 
believable  because  they  have  no  foundation  in 
fact.  Others  of  us  give  up  the  task  as  hopeless, 
and  declare  frankly  that  we  do  not  know  wheth 
er  they  are  true  or  not,  but  that  we  are  willing  to 
give  them  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 

These  things  of  divine  truth  are  so  preposter 
ous  to  the  common  sense  that  only  the  ignorant 
can  believe  them.  Wherefore  the  Scriptures  are 
given  into  the  hands  of  the  ignorant  for  preser 
vation,  lest  we,  intelligent  pharisees,  should  alter 
and  amend  them  to  fit  our  own  ideas — in  the 
which  case  they  would  inevitably  perish. 

For  it  is  to  be  remembered  that,  while  the 
divine  Scriptures  have  lasted  in  their  entirety 
through  the  ages,  nearly  every  system  of  human 
philosophy — whether  physical  or  metaphysical— 
has  perished  after  a  generation  or  two,  to  give 
place  to  another  system.  So  would  the  Script 
ures  perish  if  it  were  left  to  us  to  amend  them 
so  as  to  fit  the  rational  and  intelligent  science  of 
the  age. 

We  were  born  to  crucify  the  truth;  it  is  our 
mission  in  life,  and  we  must  not  be  blamed  when 
we  fulfil  our  destiny. 

Shortly  after   that  visit  of  the  priests  and 
4  49 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Levites  to  the  baptisms  of  John,  the  promised 
Messiah  suddenly  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the 
motley  crowd  gathered  to  hear  the  truth. 

A  poor  woman,  the  mother  of  two  ordinary 
fishermen,  thus  described  the  divine  miracle  that 
thereupon  happened.  She  told  it  somewhat 
thus :  "  I  saw  it.  There  was  a  great  many  people 
around ;  some  saw  it  and  some  did  not  see  it.  I 
can't  tell  just  how  it  was,  but  it  was  after  He 
went  down  into  the  water  with  John.  There  was 
a  light  as  if  it  was  sunshine  up  this  way;  then 
something  came.  It  looked  like  a  dove — they  all 
said  it  was  a  dove.  It  looked  like  it  came  down 
upon  Him.  I  don't  know  how  long  it  lasted — 
I  saw  it  for  a  little  and  then  it  was  gone.  He 
was  standing  in  the  water  along  with  John ;  then 
He  came  out  close  to  where  I  stood.  The  folk 
were  calling  out '  Hallelujah !'  all  about  us.  They 
were  crying  'Hallelujah!  Hallelujah!'  They 
crowded  so  they  pushed  me  into  the  water.  I 
felt  as  though  I  were  going  crazy,  and  I,  too, 
kept  calling  out  *  Hallelujah!  Hallelujah!' " 

Even  in  the  recounting  of  such  a  reality  it 
sounds  shocking.  How  shocking,  then,  must  it 
have  been  to  those  of  us  who  were  living  when  it 
really  happened. 

But  with  this,  the  mission  of  John  came  to  an 
end.  The  crowds  that  had  gathered  about  him 

50 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

departed  hither  and  thither,  and  the  earth  was 
left  bare  and  desolate  where  the  growing  things 
of  the  spring-time  had  been  trampled  into  the 
dry  and  dusty  soil  by  the  treading  of  many  feet— 
where  the  pure  waters  of  the  streams  had  been 
defiled  by  human  contact. 


THE    BEGINNING   OF   THE    WORKS 

WITH  the  dispersion  of  the  great  crowd  of 
poor  ignorants  who  had  gathered  about 
John  the  Baptist,  we  thought  that  the  agitation 
was  ended. 

We  were  mistaken. 

For  a  time  nothing  more  was  heard  of  the 
Christ  whom  John  had  baptized.  Then,  sudden 
ly,  there  came  rumors,  first  from  one  side  and 
then  from  another;  fugitive  words  telling  of  a 
renewed  excitement  that  had  begun  to  ferment 
obscurely  in  that  same  nether  class  that  had  fol 
lowed  John  to  his  baptism.  Gradually  these 
rumors  became  more  and  more  dominant,  and 
every  day  more  people  heard  of  and  became  in 
terested  in  what  was  said.  The  interest  was  not 
very  great  with  us,  but  it  was  sufficient  to  keep 
alive  the  observation  of  the  daily  papers. 

The  Messiah  who  had  been  baptized  by  John 
had  reappeared,  and  many  people  of  the  poorer 
classes  were  gathering  about  Him  in  numbers 

52 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

to  hear  His  teachings  and  to  receive  His  word. 
These  poor  people  asserted  that  He  performed 
many  miracles ;  that  He  could  heal  the  sick  and 
diseased  by  merely  touching  them  with  His 
hand  ;  that  He  caused  the  lame  to  walk,  the 
dumb  to  speak,  and  the  blind  to  see.  It  was  said 
that  many  miraculous  cures  had  already  been 
performed  by  Him. 

It  happened  at  this  time  that  a  party  of  men 
of  the  literary  and  artistic  world  had  chartered  a 
vessel  and  had  fitted  it  up  as  a  floating  studio, 
adorning  it  with  antique  furniture,  rugs,  hang 
ings,  and  bric-h-brac. 

It  was  a  very  merry  party — a  party  of  saddu- 
cees  who  strenuously  believed  in  no  resurrection. 
There  was  Archibald  Redfern,  the  writer-artist- 
man- about -town;  Corry  King,  assistant  editor 
and  business  manager  of  the  Aurora  ;  Marcey, 
the  architect;  Chillingham  Norcott,  the  artist; 
Allington,  of  the  publishing -house  of  Richard 
White  &  Co. ;  Dr.  Ames,  Pinwell,  and  others. 
During  the  cruise,  Norcott,  Pinwell,  and  Red- 
fern  had  enriched  the  panels  of  the  cabin  with 
marines  and  landscapes  and  decorative  pieces 
until  the  interior  looked  almost  like  a  picture- 
gallery.  Everything  was  as  luxurious  as  possi 
ble.  They  had  engaged  Pierre  Blanc  to  go  with 
them  and  to  cook  for  them,  and  they  paid  him 

53 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

six  hundred  dollars  for  the  three  or  four  weeks  of 
the  cruise.  When  it  is  said  that  Dr.  Ames  him 
self  selected  the  wines  and  liquors,  nothing  more 
need  be  said  concerning  the  provisioning  of  the 
expedition. 

The  cruise  had  been  a  complete  success,  and 
now  they  were  about  returning  to  the  metropolis 
again.  They  had  run  short  of  ice,  and  had  put 
in  at  a  small  coast  town  for  a  fresh  supply. 

Redf  ern,  who  had  arrogated  to  himself  the  po 
sition  of  head-steward,  had  gone  ashore  in  the 
boat  with  the  steward  de  facto.  There  he  heard 
strange  and  wonderful  reports  of  miracles  that 
were  being  performed  in  the  neighborhood. 

As  the  boat,  returning  from  the  shore,  touched 
the  side  of  the  schooner,  Redfern  came  scram 
bling  aboard,  and  almost  immediately  his  loud, 
brassy  voice  was  heard  from  end  to  end  of  the 
vessel,  telling  of  wonders  performed  and  of  mir 
acles  wrought. 

Some  of  the  party  were  mildly  gambling  at 
poker  under  the  awning,  waiting  Redf  ern 's  re 
turn  with  the  ice.  Corry  King  lay  stretched  out 
upon  a  couch  in  his  shirt-sleeves  reading  a  mag 
azine,  a  tall  glass  of  brandy-and-soda  at  his  el 
bow.  Norcott  was  sketching  listlessly ;  the  oth 
ers  were  talking  together.  They  all  looked  up 
at  the  sound  of  Redf  ern' s  loud  voice.  There 

54 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

was  nothing  funny  in  what  he  said,  but  they  all 
laughed. 

"And  you  have  returned  cured  of  body  and 
sound  of  soul,  I  suppose,"  said  Ames. 

''It  isn't  of  myself  I'm  thinking,"  said  Red- 
fern,  in  his  strident,  insistent  voice,  a  voice  that 
almost  stunned  the  hearer  if  he  were  near  by  and 
not  used  to  it.  "  It's  not  of  myself  I'm  thinking. 
I'm  thinking  of  you.  I  tell  you,  boys,  this  is  the 
chance  of  your  life.  I'm  going  to  take  you  all 
ashore  this  afternoon.  Your  souls  have  run 
down  during  this  cruise,  and  what  you  want  is 
to  get  a  good  brace  of  salvation  before  you  get 
back  home  again." 

They  all  went  ashore  in  the  afternoon.  The 
town  appeared  to  be  singularly  deserted.  A  few 
guests  hung  about  the  third-class  summer  hotel 
porch,  sitting  uncomfortably  on  the  hard,  wood 
en  chairs  in  the  shade.  An  occasional  inhabi 
tant  appeared  here  and  there  on  the  hot,  sandy 
stretch  of  street,  but  everywhere  there  was  a  feel 
ing  of  dull  and  silent  depletion.  The  party  in 
quired  at  the  hotel  office  and  found  that  He 
whom  they  sought  was  then  supposed  to  be  at 
a  certain  place  about  six  miles  below  the  town 
where  there  was  a  high  and  rocky  hill.  They 
found  that  they  could  obtain  a  conveyance,  and, 
after  a  good  deal  of  jocular  chaffing  with  the  fat 

55 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

and  grinning  hackman,  the  vehicle  was  ordered, 
and  a  team  of  four  horses.  It  was  a  dusty,  rattle 
trap  affair,  and  the  party  piled  in  with  much 
noisy  confusion,  struggling  for  seats,  and  sitting 
in  one  another's  laps.  The  hotel  guests  sat  look 
ing  on  with  a  sort  of  outside  interest  and  amuse 
ment.  Then  the  hack  drove  away  with  a  volley 
of  cheers  and  a  chorus  of  mimic  coach-horns. 

"  Look  here,  boys,"  called  out  Corry  King, 
"what  I  want  to  know  is  whether  Redfern's  tak 
ing  us  down  here  for  our  sakes  or  for  his  own? 
Either  he  has  got  to  take  this  thing  seriously  or 
else  we  have." 

"It's  all  for  your  sake,  my  boy!  For  your 
sake!"  cried  out  Redfern's  brazen,  dominant 
voice.  "  I  made  up  my  mind  last  night  when  I 
saw  the  way  you  bucked  up  against  Marcy's 
luck  in  that  last  jack-pot  that  you  needed  some 
sort  of  salvation  to  pull  you  through  till  we  get 
you  home  again." 

It  was  three  o'clock  before  they  approached 
their  destination.  As  they  drew  near  they  found 
that  everywhere  vehicles  of  all  sorts  were  stand 
ing  along  the  road,  the  horses  hitched  to  the 
fence  at  the  road-sides.  They  could  see  from  a 
distance  as  they  approached  that  the  hill  was 
covered  with  a  restless,  swaying  mass  of  people, 
and  then  they  saw  that  the  crowd  was  moving 

56 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

voluminously  all  in  one  direction — away  from 
the  crest. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  too  late  to  hear  Him,  gen 
tlemen,"  said  the  driver,  and  he  urged  the  horses 
forward  with  greater  speed. 

It  was  true ;  they  were  just  too  late  to  hear  that 
sermon  which  voiced  the  sublimest  code  of  ethics 
the  world  has  ever  heard — sublime,  but,  in  our 
opinion,  impracticable. 

Presently  they  were  met,  almost  suddenly,  by 
the  broken,  ragged  outskirts  of  the  moving  crowd 
that  was  beginning  to  pour  away  from  the  hill. 
They  had  not,  until  then,  any  idea  how  great  was 
the  agitation  centring  around  this  strange  being. 

Then,  almost  in  a  moment,  the  crowd  became 
so  dense  that  the  hack  could  make  no  further 
progress.  "I  reckon  we'll  have  to  pull  out  of 
the  way,"  said  the  driver. 

"All  right,"  said  Redfern;  "pull  away." 

And  now  the  crowd  was  so  thick  about  them 
that  it  was  with  some  difficulty  that  the  driver 
could  edge  his  horses  over  to  the  side  of  the  road. 
And  every  instant  the  mass  of  men  and  women 
grew  more  and  more  dense.  "  Look  out  where 
you're  going!  Look  out  there!"  cried  a  chorus 
of  voices,  as  the  crowd  melted  and  dissolved  be 
fore  the  horses,  closing  again  around  the  hack. 
And  now  the  road  was  suddenly  filling  with  a 

57 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

great  press  of  people  moving  all  in  one  direction ; 
the  air  was  made  dense  and  darkened  with  clouds 
of  dust.  Then  the  party  in  the  hack  saw  ap 
proaching  along  the  road  the  nucleus  of  this 
denser  crowd  which  so  centred  about  a  single 
point.  "Yonder  He  is,"  cried  the  driver,  stand 
ing  up  and  pointing  with  his  whip.  "  That's  Him, 
there." 

The  men  were  all  standing  up  in  the  hack. 

"Where?"  said  Redfern. 

"That's  Him — that  tall  man,"  said  the  driver. 

The  crowd  were  surging  all  about  them,  push 
ing  against  the  wheels  of  the  hack.  The  air  was 
full  of  the  tumult  of  many  voices.  The  horses 
shrank  to  one  side  as  the  moving  mass  eddied 
around  them.  Then  there  came  a  little  group  of 
rough  men,  apparently  fishermen.  In  the  midst 
of  them  was  a  tall  man.  His  face  was  wet  with 
sweat,  and  drops  of  sweat  ran  down  His  cheeks. 
He  gazed  straight  before  Him  and  seemed  ob 
livious  to  everything  about  Him.  The  men  in 
the  hack  all  knew  that  that  must  be  He,  and 
they  stood  up  looking  at  Him. 

Then  they  saw  a  miracle. 

Suddenly,  almost  alongside  them,  there  was  a 
commotion  and  an  outcry  of  voices.  The  crowd 
parted,  and  as  those  in  the  hack  looked  down, 
they  saw  a  man  struggling  out  of  it  and  panting 

58 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

and  gasping.  It  was  a  dreadful  sight.  He  was 
covered  over  with  hideous,  scrofulous  sores.  No 
wonder  the  crowd  parted  to  make  way  for  him. 
Through  his  panting  he  was  shouting,  hoarsely, 
' '  Make  me  clean !  Make  me  clean !' '  The  crowd 
surged  and  swayed  with  an  echoing  outcry  of 
voices,  and  for  a  moment  the  man  was  shut  out 
from  the  sight  of  those  sadducees.  Then  they 
could  see  that  the  diseased  man  was  kneeling  in 
the  road. 

"I  will,"  said  a  loud,  clear  voice  that  domi 
nated  the  disturbance.  ' '  Be  clean !' '  They  could 
see  that  He  upon  whom  they  were  looking  had 
reached  out  His  hand.  They  could  not  see  what 
He  did,  but  He  appeared  to  touch  the  kneeling 
man.  Instantly  there  was  a  great  shout,  and  the 
crowd  surged  and  swept  and  heaved  more  tu- 
multuously  than  ever.  They  could  not  see  what 
had  happened. 

" My  God!"  cried  out  the  driver,  " did  you  see 
that?" 

"See  what?"  said  Corry  King,  who  stood  next 
him.  In  spite  of  himself  he  felt  thrilled  with  a 
sympathetic  excitement. 

"Didn't  you  see  it?     He  cured  him." 

" Cured  him?"  said  King.  "  Who?  Where  is 
he?" 

"  Now — don't  you  see  him?     There  he  is." 
59 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Had  they  really  beheld  a  miracle?  No;  they 
had  not.  Archibald  Redfern  burst  out  laugh 
ing.  "Didn't  you  see  it,  King?"  he  jeered. 
11  Where  are  your  eyes?" 

That  evening  it  was  said  that  He  would  heal 
the  sick  who  would  come  to  Him.  The  boat 
party,  interested  in  what  they  had  already  heard, 
went  ashore  again  after  dark.  The  town  that 
had  seemed  to  be  dead  and  empty  when  they 
were  there  before,  was  now  full  of  people.  There 
were  crowds  everywhere.  The  night  was  hot 
and  oppressive.  The  sadducees  followed  whither 
the  crowd  seemed  to  move,  the  press  growing 
ever  thicker  and  thicker,  until,  by-and-by,  they 
reached  a  street  densely  packed  with  the  throng. 

It  was  a  dark  and  narrow  street  in  the  suburbs. 
It  was  packed  full  of  people,  and  it  was  only  after 
much  difficulty  they  were  able  to  reach  a  point 
of  vantage — a  broad  flight  of  wooden  steps  that 
led  up  to  the  door  of  a  frame  church.  Thence 
they  could  see  over  the  heads  of  the  mob  of  men 
and  women  who  filled  the  street  beyond.  They 
could  see  that  the  people  were  bringing  the  sick 
through  the  crowd.  Near  them  was  a  man  car 
rying  a  little  child  in  his  arms.  Its  poor  little  legs 
were  twisted  into  a  steel  frame.  A  woman  fol 
lowed  close  behind  the  man.  The  child  lay  with 

60 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

its  head  upon  the  man's  shoulder  and  appeared 
to  be  crying,  though  it  was  too  dark  to  see  clear 
ly.  The  man  moved,  step  by  step,  forward,  and 
presently  was  swallowed  into  the  dark  mass  of 
humanity  beyond.  In  the  distance  was  a  door 
way  in  which  stood  a  figure  of  a  man,  black 
against  the  dull  light  of  the  lamp  behind.  There 
appeared  to  be  a  number  of  other  figures  crowded 
in  the  passageway  behind  Him.  People  were 
looking  out  of  the  windows  of  the  neighboring 
houses.  They  could  not  see  from  the  church- 
steps  where  they  stood  what  He  was  doing,  but 
He  was  constantly  moving  and  stooping  forward. 
The  tumult  and  din  were  dreadful.  It  appeared 
a  pandemonium  of  wild,  unmeaning  excitement. 
As  in  the  afternoon,  it  was  an  excitement  that 
was  contagious.  "  Do  you  suppose  He  really  is 
curing  them?"  said  Norcott,  and  again  Archibald 
Redfern  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Why,  of  course  He  is,"  said  he. 

He  had  seen  no  miracle  and  could  see  none. 
How  was  it  possible  for  a  sadducee,  who  believed 
in  no  resurrection,  to  see  a  miracle  ?  The  wisest 
sadducee  that  ever  lived,  had  he  seen  a  miracle, 
would  not  have  believed  it.  Had  the  Almighty 
blotted  out  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  written 
the  sign  of  His  Truth  in  letters  of  fire  all  across 
the  blackened  canopy  of  the  heavens,  Redfern  or 

61 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Corry  King  would  not  have  believed — they  would 
have  misdoubted  their  own  eyesight. 

After  they  had  satisfied  their  curiosity,  the 
party  went  back  to  the  boat  and  played  poker 
until  nearly  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


VI 

THE    YOUNG    MAN    WITH    GREAT    POSSESSIONS 

DR.  AND  MRS.  CAIAPHAS  were  spending 
the  latter  part  of  the  summer  at  the  sea-side 
with  their  son-in-law,  Mr.  Henry  Herbert  Gilder- 
man. 

Mrs.  Gilderman  was  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Caiaphas's 
daughter  Florence — their  eldest  girl,  and  perhaps 
the  best-beloved  by  the  doctor  of  all  the  children. 
She  had  been  married  now  a  little  over  a  year, 
during  nearly  all  of  which  time  she  and  her  hus 
band  had  lived  abroad. 

Gilderman  was  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the 
world.  His  grandfather  had  laid  the  foundation 
of  that  great  Gilderman  estate  of  the  present 
generation,  and  his  father  had  built  well  upon 
the  foundation  that  the  first  Gilderman  had 
laid.  Gilderman  had  been  born  into  all  this  great 
wealth  —  so  great  that,  perhaps,  no  man  could 
realize  how  vast  it  was.  To  be  born  into  such  a 
fortune  is  almost  as  to  be  born  into  royalty.  It 
shuts  the  inheritor  into  a  shell  of  circumstances 

63 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

from  which  there  is  no  escape.  Such  a  man  as 
Gilderman  must  live  his  life  after  a  certain  rou 
tine  and  in  a  certain  way  from  which  there  is  no 
escape.  There  was  no  privacy  in  his  life,  for  all 
the  world  looked  on  and  saw  what  he  did.  His 
business  of  life  was  to  spend  money  and  to  enjoy 
himself.  For  that  purpose,  and  for  that  purpose 
alone,  he  was  born  into  the  world.  He  had  a 
house  in  the  metropolis,  another  at  the  nation's 
capital,  and  still  another  where  the  Romans  of 
his  class  spent  the  torrid  weather  of  summer. 
Each  of  these  was  a  palace,  and  each  was  filled 
with  gems  of  art  and  rare  pieces  of  china,  plate, 
tapestries,  and  bric-a-brac  that  his  agents  had 
collected  for  him  from  all  parts  of  the  world. 
He  had  given  a  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  dol 
lars  for  a  single  painting,  and  after  it  was  hung 
he  had,  perhaps,  hardly  looked  at  it.  When  he 
travelled  he  had  a  valet  to  look  after  him,  and 
to  foresee  and  to  fulfil  his  wishes.  He  hardly 
did  anything  for  himself  —  not  even  to  order 
a  cab  or  to  purchase  a  railroad- ticket.  Other 
attendants  looked  after  the  heaps  of  luggage 
which  he  took  with  him  when  he  travelled.  He 
had  his  av ant-courier  to  prepare  soft  places  for 
him  in  which  to  lodge,  and  others  remained  be 
hind  to  close  the  places  which  he  left.  Now  that 
he  was  married,  his  wife — who  had  fallen  very 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

pliantly  into  her  new  life,  as  women  do  —  must 
also  have  a  maid  to  accompany  her  wherever  she 
went.  They  would  almost  fill  the  private  car  in 
which  they  nearly  always  travelled  if  they  had 
any  distance  to  go,  especially  if  they  travelled 
upon  any  of  the  railroads  which  Gilderman  con 
trolled.  There  was  no  escape  from  this  routine. 
Even  when  Gilderman  would  seek  to  change  the 
monotonous  smoothness  of  his  existence  with  a 
taste  of  something  rougher — say  of  the  moun 
tains — it  was  only  a  pretended  roughness  cover 
ing  over  the  same  perpetual  smoothness  and  soft 
ness  of  life.  His  log-hut  in  the  wilderness  was  a 
palace  masquerading  as  a  hut  of  logs.  Every 
thing  was  really  soft  and  warm ;  the  furniture  was 
an  artificial  reproduction  of  something  rough; 
the  floors  were  spread  with  skins  of  wild  beasts 
that  cost  three  or  four  or  five  hundred  dollars 
apiece ;  there  was  an  open  fireplace  that  was  de 
signed  and  built  by  Marcy,  the  architect,  and  a 
picture  of  this  pretence  of  roughness  was  pub 
lished  in  the  voluminous  Sunday  issue  of  some 
daily  paper  for  all  the  world  to  behold. 

Such  were  the  surroundings  of  Henry  Herbert 
Gilderman.  Into  these  circumstances  the  mys 
terious  paradox  of  divine  wisdom  had  placed 
a  selfhood,  eager,  alertly  intelligent,  receptive, 
warm,  affectionate.  A  nature  which,  perhaps, 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

lacked  the  gritty  strenuosity  in  which  a  charac 
ter  grows  strong  and  fibrous  and  hard,  but  a 
nature  soft,  rich,  and  lovable  —  a  nature  into 
which  the  seeds  of  truth  fell  easily  and  struck 
quick  roots  and  thrust  forth  a  rapid  growth. 
The  garden  of  his  soul  was  rather  luxuriant 
than  well  tilled,  but  it  was  fruitful  and  beau 
tiful. 

As  said  before,  the  business  of  Gilderman's 
life  was  its  enjoyments  —  and  the  spending  of 
money;  the  dream  of  his  life  was  of  religious 
faith,  of  social  reform,  of  an  equitable  readjust 
ment  of  the  classes.  He  read  intermittently  of 
advanced  socialistic  and  theological  literature. 
In  these  readings  he  would  soon  grow  tired,  pres 
ently  find  himself  becoming  dull  and  drowsy; 
but  each  time  he  read  a  few  seeds  would  fall 
scatteringly  in  the  soft,  warm  loam  of  his  soul, 
and  would  there  spring  up  into  the  quick,  rank 
growth  of  which  he  was  very  proud. 

He  loved  nothing  better  than  to  talk  to  some 
intimate  friend  of  his  dreams  and  of  his  relig 
ious  and  socialistic  views.  He  would  talk  on 
such  an  occasion  until  his  cheeks  glowed  and  his 
breath  came  hot  and  thick.  He  would,  some 
times,  afterwards  wonder  dimly  whether  he  had 
not  been  a  little  foolish — whether  he  had  not 
talked  too  much  and  said  too  much  nonsense. 

66 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

But  he  enjoyed  the  intensity  of  the  excitement 
while  it  lasted. 

His  friends  loved  him. 

He  was,  unless  crossed  in  his  desires,  kind  to 
every  one  whom  he  met ;  but  he  never  forgot  that 
he  was  Henry  Herbert  Gilderman  and  the  grand 
son  of  James  Quincy  Gilderman. 

Gilderman  was  singularly  attracted  by  the 
popular  interest  that  centred  about  John  the 
Baptist,  and  now  about  the  Christ  who  taught 
and  healed  the  poor.  He  used  to  talk  about 
these  things  to  his  father-in-law  when  he  could 
get  Dr.  Caiaphas  to  discuss  the  matter.  The 
subject  was  one  not  very  pleasant  to  the  rector 
of  the  Church  of  the  Advent,  and  he  was  not 
often  willing  to  discuss  it. 

When  September  arrived,  Mrs.  Caiaphas  did 
not  immediately  return  to  town.  Mrs.  Gilder 
man  was  not  at  that  time  feeling  at  all  well,  and 
her  mother  continued  with  her  for  a  while.  Dr. 
Caiaphas,  however,  used  to  go  down  on  a  Satur 
day  morning — generally  in  Gilderman's  yacht- 
preach  on  Sunday,  attend  to  his  more  pressing 
parish  work  on  Monday  and  possibly  on  Tuesday, 
and  then  return  directly  to  his  summer  home 
again. 

One  day  Gilderman  went  down  to  the  metropo 
lis  with  his  father-in-law,  having  business  in  town 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

with  his  manager.  They  started  late  in  the  af 
ternoon,  and  took  their  dinner  aboard  the  yacht, 
which  they  had  to  themselves.  They  sat  smoking 
on  the  deck  after  dinner,  each  in  a  great  rattan 
chair.  The  day  had  been  very  hot,  and  they  en 
joyed  to  the  full  the  swift  motion  and  the  chill  of 
the  night  air.  It  was  a  beautiful  night,  soft  and 
mild — the  sky  dusted  over  with  a  myriad  stars. 
The  yacht  sped  forward,  with  a  ceaseless  rushing 
of  the  water  alongside.  The  cigar-points  alter 
nately  glowed  and  paled  as  they  smoked.  Dr. 
Caiaphas  buttoned  up  his  coat  close  to  his  chin. 
Every  now  and  then  the  voice  of  the  sailors 
forward  broke  the  stillness  of  the  night,  or  the 
clinking  of  dishes  and  tumblers  sounded  loud  as 
the  steward  put  away  the  glass  and  the  china  in 
the  saloon. 

There  was  a  distant  light  over  across  the  dark 
water.  It  led  Gilderman's  thoughts  to  the  sub 
ject  which  had  occupied  them  much  of  late. 

"  By-the-way,"  he  said,  "  has  it  never  occurred 
to  you,  sir,  to  question  whether,  after  all,  the 
Messiah  whom  the  people  are  proclaiming  over 
yonder  is  not  really  the  Divine  Truth  incarnated  ?' ' 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Caiaphas,  "it  has  not.  And, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  Henry,  I  would  a  great  deal 
rather  not  discuss  that  phase  of  the  question." 

"Why  not?" 

68 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"Well,  because  it  is  unpleasant  to  me — be 
cause  it  is  distressful  to  me."  Gilderman  was 
silent,  and,  by-and-by,  Dr.  Caiaphas  voluntarily 
continued:  "The  Divine  Word  leads  us  to  un 
derstand  that  God  is  a  spirit,  and  they  that  wor 
ship  Him  must  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in 
truth.  It  is  revolting  to  me  to  even  listen  to  the 
supposition  that  the  God  of  Heaven  could  have 
a  human  son — a  carpenter  by  trade — and  that 
the  mother  should  be  the  wife  of  a  common  car 
penter." 

"  I  think  I  enter  perfectly  into  your  feelings," 
said  Gilderman,  after  another  little  space  of  si 
lence;  "but — I  don't  want  to  force  the  conversa 
tion  upon  you,  you  understand,  sir — but  I  must 
say  that  it  seems  to  me  that  you  think  only  of 
God's  acting  according  to  your  own  ideas  of  fit 
ness.  I  do  not  believe  that  He  ever  acts  accord 
ing  to  man's  ideas,  and  maybe  He  may  not  have 
done  so  in  this  instance.  How  do  you  know,  sir, 
that  we  may  not  be  mistaken?  And,  if  we  are 
mistaken,  what  a  great  wrong  are  we  doing!" 

"In  that  case,"  said  Dr.  Caiaphas,  "and,  if  I 
am  mistaken,  speaking  for  myself,  I  see  nothing 
for  it  but  to  suffer  for  my  own  short-sightedness. 
Every  man  must  exercise  his  own  judgment,  and 
if  his  judgment  is  wrong  he  must  suffer  for  it.  I 
cannot  believe  that  this  poor  journeyman  car- 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

penter  is  the  son  of  the  Almighty  God  whom 
I  worship.  If  I  am  mistaken,  I  must  suffer  for 
it,  for  I  cannot  change  my  mind.  And  I  am  so 
sure  in  my  disbelief,"  he  added,  as  though  to 
close  the  discussion,  "that  I  am  willing  to  stand 
my  chances  upon  it  at  the  day  of  judgment,  even 
if  that  day  were  to-morrow." 

After  that,  Gilderman  did  not  say  anything 
more.  But  in  the  few  words  he  had  said  he  had 
begun  almost  to  convince  himself  that  the  mira 
cles  of  which  the  world  was  beginning  to  talk 
were  really  worthy  of  attention. 

The  next  morning,  after  an  eleven  -  o'clock 
breakfast  aboard  the  yacht,  Gilderman  had  him 
self  driven  down  to  his  office.  After  the  fresh 
ness  of  the  open  air  at  the  sea-side,  the  city  felt 
like  a  steaming  oven.  Gilderman  sat  leaning 
back  in  the  brougham  smoking  and  looking  out 
upon  the  hot  bustle  of  the  street.  The  cease 
lessly  streaming  crowds  on  the  sidewalk  hurried 
and  jostled  and  pushed,  paying  no  attention  to 
the  heat  or  to  their  fellow  -  men  or  to  heaven 
or  to  hell,  or  to  anything  but  the  business  they 
were  just  then  so  intent  upon — each  man  a  little 
life  in  himself  shut  out  from  all  the  other  little 
lives  around  him. 

A  bulletin  was  posted  on  a  board  in  front  of 
a  newspaper-office — a  square  of  brownish  paper 

70 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

covered  with  ink  -  drawn  characters.  Half  a 
dozen  men  stood  looking  at  it,  but  the  stream  of 
humanity  flowed  by,  neither  thinking  of  nor  car 
ing  for  the  words  posted  above  their  heads. 

In  large  letters  it  proclaimed  that  John  the 
Baptist  had  been  executed  the  night  before. 

It  brought  a  singular  shock  to  Gilderman,  who 
was  still  impressed  by  the  recollection  of  the 
brief  talk  that  he  had  had  with  his  father-in-law. 
He  said  to  himself,  as  he  sat  leaning  back  in  the 
carriage,  "It's  a  confounded  shame!'* 

He  thought  about  it  intermittently  all  the 
way  down  to  the  office  and  until  the  brougham 
stopped  at  the  sidewalk  and  he  got  out. 

The  office  was  on  the  first  floor  of  an  imposing 
brown  -  stone  building.  Over  the  great,  glazed 
doors  were  carved  in  relief  the  words : 

"  GILDERMAN  BUILDING." 

On  both  sides  of  the  plate-glass  windows  that 
looked  out  into  the  busy  street  were  gilt  letters : 

"OFFICE  OF  THE  GILDERMAN  ESTATE." 

Now  the  windows  were  open,  and  through  them 
he  could  see  the  clerks  busy  over  the  books.  They 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

looked  warm,  and  wore  linen  or  madras  jackets. 
Mr.  Wright,  the  manager,  was  standing  with  the 
cashier  looking  over  a  book.  They  neither  of 
them  saw  him. 

"  You  may  come  for  me  at  three  o'clock,"  Gil- 
derman  said  to  the  man,  who  stood  holding 
open  the  door  of  the  brougham.  And  then  he 
turned  and  went  up  the  steps  and  through  the 
swinging  -  door.  The  electric  -  fans  were  whir 
ring,  and  the  air  felt  cool  after  the  hot  street 
outside. 

He  went  directly  through  to  the  manager's 
room  beyond.  Those  whom  he  passed  turned 
and  looked  after  him;  he  was  used  to  having 
men  look  after  him  in  that  way.  He  felt  that 
the  fact  of  his  presence  became  almost  instant 
ly  known  throughout  the  entire  office.  There 
was  a  silent,  indescribable  movement  among  the 
clerks.  He  saw  the  cashier  speak  to  Mr.  Wright, 
the  manager,  who  looked  up  sharply. 

Gilderman  went  directly  into  his  private  office. 
He  laid  his  hat  on  the  table  among  the  news 
papers.  There  was  a  brass  electric -fan  on  the 
mantel,  and  he  turned  the  switch  and  started  it 
moving,  standing  before  the  refreshing  coolness. 
As  he  did  so  the  other  door  opened  and  Mr. 
Wright  came  in.  The  manager  bowed  and  Gil 
derman  acknowledged  his  presence  with  a  nod. 

72 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

He  did  not  move  away  from  the  cooling  breezes 
of  the  fan. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  called  you  away  from  the 
sea  in  such  weather  as  this,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  said 
the  manager. 

"I'm  sorry  to  come,  Wright.  It  seems  to  me 
we've  had  nothing  but  hot  weather  ever  since 
February." 

"  How's  Mrs.  Gilderman?"  asked  the  manager. 

"  Not  very  well,"  said  Gilderman,  briefly.  "  I 
suppose  you  wanted  me  about  those  copper- 
mines?" 

"Yes,  sir;  the  transfers  will  have  to  be  signed 
this  week.  I've  made  arrangements  with  Mr. 
Pengrist  and  Walton,  of  Walton  &  Boone,  to  be 
here.  Shall  I  send  word  to  Mr.  Pengrist  now?" 

"  You  might  as  well,"  said  Mr.  Gilderman.  As 
Mr.  Wright  touched  the  electric-bell  he  remem 
bered  the  bulletin  he  had  just  seen  posted  at  the 
newspaper  office.  "  By  -the  -way,"  said  he,  "I 
saw  it  posted  on  the  bulletin-board  as  I  came 
down  that  John  the  Baptist  had  been  executed." 

"Yes;  so  I  was  told  awhile  ago,"  said  Mr. 
Wright.  "I  think  it's  a  pity  that  there  should 
have  been  any  dilly-dallying  about  it.  Herod 
might  as  well  have  acted  sharply  in  the  first 
instance.  He  has  gained  nothing  by  all  this 
delay." 

73 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  I  don't  think  the  Baptist  ought  to  have  been 
executed  at  all,"  said  Gilderman,  briefly. 

Mr.  Wright  smiled,  and  then  looked  quickly 
sober.  He  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  Gilder- 
man's  radical  and  socialistic  proclivities.  He 
thought  that  they  were  very  foolish,  but  he  was 
too  practical  a  man  and  had  too  much  good 
sense  to  argue  the  point. 

The  messenger  -  boy  appeared  at  the  open 
door.  "  Go  down  to  Pengrist  &  Ball's,"  said  Mr. 
Wright,  "and  tell  Mr.  Pengrist  that  Mr.  Gilder 
man  is  here." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy  and  disappeared. 


VII 

AMONG    THE    ROMANS 

ILDERMAN  had  made  an  appointment  by 
* — >  note  to  dine  that  evening  at  the  "  Romans" 
with  his  friend  Stirling  West.  His  father-in-law 
had  asked  him  to  dine  at  the  rectory,  but  he  had 
declined.  The  truth  was,  that  he  was  hunger 
ing  for  a  taste  of  that  sort  of  masculine  society 
which  he  could  only  find  at  the  club. 

The  "Romans"  was  a  pseudonym  for  the 
International  Club.  Why  it  was  so  called  can 
better  be  understood  than  explained.  The  In 
ternational  Club,  though  large,  was  really  one 
of  the  most  select  clubs  in  the  metropolis.  Its 
membership  was  almost  entirely  composed  of 
plutocrats.  With  these  was  a  sprinkling  inter 
mixture  of  the  politicratic  class.  The  chief  ruler 
of  the  nation  was  an  honorary  member;  Gov 
ernor  Pilate  was  a  member,  and  so  were  others 
among  the  rulers  of  the  nation.  But  almost 
the  entire  body  of  the  club  was  composed  of 
plutocrats — such  men  as  Mr.  Dorman- Webster 

75 


REJECTED    OF    MEN" 

among  the  patriarchs,  and  Gilderman  among  the 
juniors. 

The  club  was  always  pretty  full  at  this  time  of 
the  year.  Wives  and  families  were  yet  out  of 
town,  and  the  men  came  here  to  dine.  Gilder 
man  went  early  and  secured  a  table  by  the  open 
window,  and  sat  there  reading  while  he  waited 
for  his  friend  to  come.  The  breeze  came  in  at 
the  open  windows  every  now  and  then,  swaying 
and  bellying  the  gaudy  awning  outside.  The 
stony  street  below  looked  hot  and  empty  in  the 
sloping  light  of  the  sinking  sun.  Every  now  and 
then  Gilderman  looked  around  from  his  paper — 
the  room  was  beginning  to  fill.  There  was  a  dis 
tinct  air  of  informality  about  everything.  Many 
of  the  men  wore  tweed  suits. 

At  last,  Stirling  West  sauntered  into  the  room 
and  dropped  into  his  place.  "How  d'e  do,  old 
man?"  said  he.  "  Beastly  hot,  isn't  it?  How 
did  you  leave  the  madam?" 

"Not  very  well — her  mother's  with  her." 

"So  I  heard.  By -the -way,  I  see  his  rever 
ence  is  at  the  rectory." 

"  Yes ;  he  came  down  last  night  in  the  Nautilus. 
Have  a  cocktail?" 

The  dinner  was  over  and  they  were  sitting  in 
the  cafe.  Gilderman  had  been  talking  to  his 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

friend  concerning  his  religious  views.  He  had 
been  led  into  that  current  of  talk  from  discuss 
ing  the  execution  of  John  the  Baptist. 

"By  Jove!  old  man,"  said  Stirling  West,  "I 
wish  I  had  your  enthusiasm — I  do,  indeed.  I 
believe  you  really  believe  in  all  that  sort  of  stuff 
you're  talking  to  me  about." 

The  air  about  them  was  blue  with  tobacco 
smoke.  Their  coffee-cups  at  their  elbows  were 
empty,  except  for  a  black  remainder  at  the  bot 
tom;  the  saucers  half  full  of  the  scattered  cigar- 
ashes  that  had  been  tilted  into  them. 

Gilderman  recognized  that  his  talk  was  out  of 
place,  but  he  still  continued.  "  Why  do  you  call 
it  stuff,  Stirling?  It's  only  stuff  to  you  because 
you  don't  believe  in  it.  The  future  life  in  an 
other  world  is  as  real  to  me  as — as  going  out  of 
this  cafe  into  the  smoking-room  yonder.  What 
is  life  without  such  a  belief  as  that?  If  you  re 
gard  this  life  as  all  that  there  is  for  a  man  to  live, 
then  the  world  is  a  pit  of  misery  worse  than  hell, 
and  God  is  a  jesting  devil  juggling  with  the  mis 
ery  and  the  pangs  of  mankind  whom  He  created 
for  His  own  amusement.  Just  look  at  it,  Stir 
ling,  in  the  light  of  reason.  Here  we  are  with 
more  than  we  want,  trying  to  tickle  our  stom 
achs  into  an  appetite  by  all  this  made-up  stuff 
we've  been  eating.  Go  only  just  around  the  cor- 

77 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

ner  yonder  and  you'll  find  men  and  women  living 
like  maggots." 

"  Oh  yes;  I  know  all  about  that  sort  of  social 
istic  rot,"  put  in  Stirling  West.  "But  how  the 
deuce  am  I  to  help  it,  old  man?  I  didn't  put  'em 
there,  and  I  can't  go  nosing  around  in  their  beast 
ly  tenements.  What's  the  use  of  thinking  and 
worrying  about  it,  anyhow?  What's  the  use  of 
stirring  up  all  that  sort  of  a  row  about  a  thing 
a  man  can't  help?" 

"But,  don't  you  see,"  cried  Gilderman,  en 
thusiastically,  stretching  out  his  hand  across 
the  table  and  opening  it  tensely,  "if  this  life's 
only  the  first  step  in  a  man's  existence,  how 
beautifully  all  the  inequality  and  the  injustice  of 
the  world  is  made  equal  and  orderly  in  view  of 
the  world  to  come.  We  are  all  passing  through 
a  little  state  of  probation.  What  does  it  matter 
if  a  man  is  rich  or  poor  for  these  few  short  years 
of  life?" 

"  By  Jove!  it  matters  a  deuced  deal,  I  can  tell 
you,"  said  Stirling  West.  "Look  here,  Gildy, 
you  don't  know,  and  nobody  knows,  that  he  has 
a  life  to  live  after  he's  dead." 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Gilderman;  "I  know  it  as 
well  as  I  know  that  I'm  alive  now."  But  even 
as  he  spoke  he  knew  that  there  were  moments 
when  he  doubted  it. 

78 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

" No;  you  don't  know  it.  You  believe  it,  but 
you  don't  know  it.  Well,  old  man,  a  bird  in  the 
hand's  worth  two  in  the  bush,  any  day.  My 
life's  a  bird  in  the  hand — it's  a  lark,  you  know— 
and  I'm  going  to  get  all  the  fun  out  of  it  there 
is  in  it.  I'm  dead  sure  I'm  alive  now,  and  I'm 
not  sure  of  what  is  to  come  after  I'm  dead.  You 
may  bet  your  life  I'm  not  going  to  throw  away 
my  present  chances  for  something  I  don't  know 
about." 

Gilderman  paused  for  a  little  while.  "Oh, 
well,"  he  said,  presently,  "it  doesn't  matter.  If 
God  don't  want  you  to  see  the  truth,  you  can't 
see  it,  and  no  man  can  make  you  see  it.  He  has 
His  own  divine  way  of  regenerating  every  man. 
I  believe — you  don't  believe;  I  see — you  don't 
see.  It  is  neither  to  my  credit  nor  to  your  dis 
credit.  It  is  simply  that  we're  made  as  we  are." 
A  sudden  chill  of  doubt  came  over  him  even  as 
he  spoke.  Such  a  chill  of  doubt  often  struck 
across  his  spirit  even  when  he  was  in  the  very 
heat  of  his  enthusiasm.  And  then  again  it  oc 
curred  to  him  how  absurd  and  out  of  place  it  was 
for  him  to  be  discussing  such  things  in  the  cafe 
of  the  International  Club,  in  the  midst  of  the 
smoking,  the  empty  coffee-cups,  and  the  hum 
ming  undertone  of  masculine  talking. 

Stirling  West  sat  smoking  in  meditative  silence 
79 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

for  a  while.  By-and-by  he  suddenly  spoke  again. 
" By-the-way,"  he  said,  "have  you  seen  Olivia 
Carrington  yet?" 

Olivia  Carrington  was  a  notable  concert-hall 
dancer  who  had  just  been  imported  into  the  coun 
try.  Gilderman  had  thought  that  his  compan 
ion  had  been  meditating  upon  what  they  had 
been  saying.  The  sudden  change  of  topic  made 
him  feel  still  more  the  absurdity  of  his  late  en 
thusiasm.  "  No,  I  haven't  seen  her,"  he  said. 

"  By  Jove,  she's  a  daisy !  What  do  you  say  to 
go  around  to  the  Westminster  and  see  her  this 
evening?" 

"I  don't  know.     All  right,  I'll  go  with  you." 

They  pushed  back  their  chairs  and  arose. 
Gilderman  realized  very  thoroughly  what  an 
egregious  fool  he  had  been. 

They  went  out  into  the  smoking-room.  A 
group  of  men  were  clustered  at  the  great,  wide 
window  that  looked  out  upon  the  street  below. 
Some  of  the  men  were  standing,  some  were  sit 
ting.  Among  them  was  Pontius  Pilate.  He 
looked  up  at  Gilderman  as  he  drew  near.  He 
was  a  large,  rather  fat,  smooth-faced  man.  His 
skin  was  colorless  and  sallow.  He  had  a  high, 
bald  forehead,  closely  cropped  gray  hair,  a  hook 
ed  nose,  and  keen,  gray  eyes  deep  set  under 

80 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

straight,  hard  brows.  His  face  was  square,  and 
his  mouth  was  set  in  a  singular  impassivity  of 
expression.  His  whole  face  wore  the  same  air 
of  impassive  calm — it  was  like  a  mask  that  cov 
ered  the  life  within.  He  looked  rather  than 
spoke  recognition  as  Gilderman  approached. 

Gilderman  drew  near.  The  man  who  was 
talking  was  one  Latimer-Moire.  He  had  just 
returned  from  an  automobile  expedition,  during 
which  he  had  come  into  touch  with  the  mar 
vellous  works  that  were  afterwards  to  stir  the 
whole  world  into  a  religious  belief.  He  was  tell 
ing  the  others  how  the  divine  miracles  of  Christ 
appeared  to  a  young  Roman  who,  like  himself, 
looked  down  upon  them  from  the  pinnacle  of  his 
earthly  station. 

"...  And,  by  Jove!  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  he 
said,  "  you  fellows  have  no  idea  of  all  the  crazy 
hurrah  those  poor  devils  are  kicking  up  down 
there.  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  if  I  hadn't 
seen  it.  You  can't  even  get  a  decent  meal  any 
where  for  the  crowds  of  people  everywhere  who 
eat  up  everything.  You  can't  go  anywhere  but 
you  hear  of  the  Man  and  His  miracles.  It 
wasn't  till  we  got  to  that  place,  though,  that  we 
struck  the  worst  of  it  all.  The  town  was  full  of 
people — a  beastly  crowd. 

"  Well,  nothing  would  do  Tommy  Ryan  but  he 

6  8l 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

must  see  one  of  those  miracles  they're  all  talking 
about.  So  we  put  up  at  the  hotel,  and  got  some 
one  to  show  us  where  He  was  to  be  found.  Tom 
my's  man  went  along  with  us,  and  it  was  a  good 
thing  we  took  him,  for  when  we  got  near  the 
house,  there  was  the  street  all  packed  and  jammed 
with  the  crowd.  It  seemed  there  was  a  delega 
tion  of  preachers  and  elders  or  something,  who 
had  come  to  interview  Him  and  get  Him  to 
do  something.  Tommy  was  all  for  seeing  what 
they  were  at.  So  his  man,  and  another  fellow  he 
tipped,  pushed  a  way  for  us  through  the  crowd, 
and  we  managed  to  get  into  the  house.  We  con 
trived  to  edge  our  way  along  the  entry  until  we 
came  to  a  room  where  He  and  the  ministers  were. 
The  place  was  packed  so  that  we  could  hard 
ly  see  anything.  Hot?  Well,  rather!  And  so 
close  that  we  could  hardly  draw  a  breath.  As 
for  the  smell — you  could  cut  it  with  a  knife — I 
thought  of  all  kinds  of  things  you  might  catch 
and  be  sick. 

"The  ministers  and  their  people  were  as  dead 
in  earnest  as  though  their  lives  depended  upon  it. 
What  they  wanted  was  for  Him  to  show  them  a 
miracle.  As  for  Him,  He  just  sat  there  and  never 
made  a  motion.  'Show  us  a  sign,'  says  one  of 
the  ministers.  'If  you  are,  indeed,  the  Christ, 
show  us  a  sign.'  'A  wicked  and  adulterous  gen- 

82 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

eration,'  said  He,  'ask  for  a  sign,  but  there  shall 
be  no  sign  given  them  but  the  sign  of  the  prophet 
Jonah.'" 

"What  did  He  mean  by  that?"  said  young 
Palliser. 

Everybody  laughed,  and  even  Governor  Pilate 
smiled. 

"But  what  in  the  deuce  did  He  mean?"  in 
sisted  Palliser. 

"Mean?"  said  Latimer-Moire.  "How should  I 
know  what  He  meant?" 

"What  did  He  look  like?"  asked  Gilder- 
man. 

"  Look  like?  Oh,  I  don't  know;  just  like  any 
other  man.  Well,  after  we  had  come  out  of  the 
place,  we  saw  some  of  His  people  outside — His 
mother  and  His  brothers.  His  brothers  had 
come  to  look  after  Him.  I  felt  deucedly  sorry 
for  'em  —  decent,  respectable  -  looking  people 
enough." 

"By-the-way,"  said  Sprague,  "did  you  read 
about  His  feeding  all  those  people?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Latimer-Moire;  "they  were  all 
talking  about  it  down  there." 

"Hullo,  Stirling,"  said  a  young  man  who  had 
just  that  moment  joined  the  group.  "How 
about  Olivia  Carrington?  Are  you  going  to  see 
her  to-night?" 

83 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

West  laughed.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going  to 
take  Gildy  to  see  her." 

"You  see,  Gilderman,"  said  the  young  fellow, 
"  Stirling's  dead  gone  on  the  girl.  He  goes  to  the 
Westminster  Gardens  every  night,  and  takes  her 
out  for  a  spin  along  the  drive  every  afternoon." 

Gilderman  looked  at  West,  who  again  laughed. 

1  'They  say  you're  having  Norcott  paint  her 
portrait,"  said  Le  Roy  Barron. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  said  West.  " Norcott' s  doing 
it  off  his  own  bat,  for  a  picture  to  send  to  the 
Academy  or  somewhere,  I  believe." 

"  By-the-way,"  said  Barron,  "I  see  poor  old 
Herod's  let  them  execute  John." 

"Yes,"  said  West,  "we  may  all  thank  Salome 
for  that.  Tommy  Ryan  was  telling  me  all  about 
it  this  morning.  It  seems  that  there  was  some 
thing  going  on  down  at  Herod's  place  last  night, 
and  Ryan  was  asked.  It  was  a  pretty  wild  sort 
of  affair.  After  supper,  the  girl  danced  for  them 
on  the  table  in  the  supper-room,  a  la  Carrington. 
I  guess  they  were  all  pretty  lively  —  anyhow 
Herod  promised  he'd  give  her  whatever  she'd  ask 
him.  And  what  does  that  woman,  her  mother, 
do  but  put  her  up  to  asking  to  have  poor  John 
the  Baptist  put  out  of  the  way.  Herod  would 
have  backed  out  if  he  could,  but  the  women  held 
him  to  his  promise." 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"By  -  the  -  way,  Gildy , ' '  said  La  timer  -  Moire, 
"  you're  sort  of  on  the  religious  lay ;  what  do  you 
think  of  all  this  row?" 

Governor  Pilate  turned  and  looked  briefly  at 
Gilderman. 

The  question  was  so  sudden  that  Gilderman 
did  not  know  what  to  say.  "  I  don't  know  that 
I'm  especially  on  the  'religious  lay,'  as  you  call 
it,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  pause;  "but  I  sup 
pose  that  every  man  must  believe  more  or  less 
in  something  or  other." 

As  he  spoke  he  felt  that  his  words  were  rather 
an  excuse  for  his  convictions  than  a  proclamation 
of  them. 

"You  see,  governor,"  said  La  t  imer  -  Moire, 
"Gilderman  still  clings  to  the  old  theological 
superstitions  of  the  past  ages — heaven  and  God 
and  a  resurrection  of  the  soul  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  He's  a  good  fellow,  is  Gildy,  but  he 
don't  seem  to  be  able  to  emancipate  himself  from 
the  shackles  of  tradition  that  his  grandfather  left 
behind  him.  Why,  Gildy,  my  boy,  nobody  be 
lieves  in  anything  nowadays." 

' '  Don't  they  ?' '  said  Gilderman.  ' '  I  think  they 
do.  If  they  don't  believe  in  heaven  and  God 
and  the  resurrection  of  the  soul,  as  you  phrase 
it,  they  must  believe  in  the  world,  the  devil,  and 
themselves." 

85 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"You  are  wrong,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  said  Gov 
ernor  Pilate,  calmly,  "so  far  as  I  am  concerned. 
I  don't  believe  in  anything — not  even  in  myself. 
I  know  I  like  a  good  dinner  and  a  good  glass  of 
wine  and  a  pretty  woman,  but  I  don't  believe  in 
them.  As  for  all  this  about  Christ,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  have  not  followed  it  very  closely,  for  it 
doesn't  interest  me  particularly.  I  have  heard 
a  good  deal  said  about  it  now  and  then — such  as 
you  young  men  have  been  talking  just  now — but 
I  have  read  nothing  of  it  in  the  newspapers.  I 
find  life  too  short  to  read  everything  that's  print 
ed  nowadays.  If  one  undertakes  to  read  every 
thing,  one  reads  nothing.  I  try  to  pick  out  what 
is  absolutely  needful  to  me  and  to  leave  the  rest. 
I  find  all  I  need  in  the  report  of  current  politics 
and  the  stock  markets." 

Olivia  Carrington  was  acting  in  the  play  called 
"  Le  Chevalier  d' Amour."  The  great  scene  that 
had  made  such  a  hit  was  where  she,  as  the  Mar 
quise,  dances  upon  the  top  of  the  table  in  the  inn 
yard,  seducing  the  jailers  from  their  duty  while 
the  scamp  of  a  chevalier  escapes.  Gilderman 
sat  watching  the  woman  in  her  gyrations  amid  a 
cloud  of  gauzy  draperies.  He  recognized  the 
pleasure  he  felt  in  the  seductive  spectacle  as  an 
evil  pleasure,  rooted  in  a  nether  stratum  of  mas- 

86 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

culine  brutality,   but,   nevertheless,   he  yielded 
himself  to  it. 

As  the  girl  came  forward  in  answer  to  the  loud 
applause  and  bowed  her  acknowledgment  to  the 
house,  she  shot  a  glance  like  a  flash  at  the  box 
where  Gilderman  and  his  friend  sat.  "  Isn't  she 
a  daisy,  Gildy?"  said  Stirling  West  enthusias 
tically,  as  he  continued  to  clap  his  hands  to 
gether.  "Come  on  around  back  of  the  scenes 
and  I'll  introduce  you." 

It  was  thus  that  the  life  of  the  Romans  just 
touched  the  divine  agony  of  that  other  life  lived 
by  the  poor  carpenter  who  was  Jehovah-God  in 
the  flesh;  it  was  thus  that  their  two  lives  just 
touched  but  did  not  commingle. 


VIII 

ONE  OF  THEM  NAMED  CAIAPHAS  BEING  HIGH- 
PRIEST   THAT    SAME    YEAR 

DURING  the  winter  it  became  more  and 
more  certain  that  Bishop  Godkin  was  dy 
ing,  and  that  Dr.  Caiaphas  would  be  chosen  his 
successor. 

The  poor  bishop  had  been  sick  for  nearly  a 
year  past.  Then  the  cause  of  his  illness  was 
found  to  be  an  internal  malignant  disease. 

At  first,  even  after  the  nature  of  the  trouble 
had  been  diagnosed,  he  had  battled  against  his 
mortal  sickness,  now  feeling  better  and  now 
again  more  ill,  and  for  a  long  time  his  family  had 
hoped  against  failing  hope  that  it  might  not  be 
what  the  physicians  had  decided  it  to  be.  Then, 
at  last,  towards  the  end,  came  the  time  when  it 
became  no  longer  possible  to  disguise  the  inev 
itable  fact.  Bishop  Godkin  must  die — the  end 
was  certain  and  was  very  near,  and  nothing, 
not  all  the  skill  of  modern  surgery,  could  save 
him.  It  was  dreadful  for  Mrs.  Godkin  and  the 

88 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

two  Misses  Godkin — both  elderly  spinsters — and 
they  fell,  for  a  time,  prostrate  under  the  blow 
that  the  attendant  physicians  had  to  administer. 
Then  they  somewhat  rallied  again  from  that  pros 
tration,  and,  after  a  while,  again  began  now  and 
then  to  hope,  for  there  were  times  when  there 
would  be  a  respite  in  the  ghastly  sickness. 

Meantime  the  work  upon  the  unfinished  temple 
was  being  pushed  forward  with  a  renewed  vigor 
after  the  freezing  cold  of  the  winter.  Stone  by 
stone,  bit  by  bit,  it  grew  towards  its  slow  com 
pletion.  It  seemed  to  those  poor  women,  in 
these  dark  days  of  their  trouble,  to  be  peculiarly 
tragic  to  look  out  of  the  broad,  clear  windows  of 
the  bishop's  house,  across  the  open  piazza-like 
square,  and  to  see  everything  over  there  at  the 
towering  structure  so  busy  and  full  of  life;  to 
hear  the  ceaseless  clink-clicking  of  hammer  and 
chisel,  and  now  and  then  the  creaking  of  block- 
and-tackle ;  to  see  always  the  restless  moving  of 
the  workmen  among  the  blocks  of  marble,  and 
the  debris  scattered  about  under  the  sheds  in 
front  of  the  south  nave — to  see  all  this  and  then 
to  think  of  the  muffled  stillness  of  the  sick-room 
over  yonder,  where,  maybe,  the  physician  sat 
listening  patiently  to  the  sick  man  as  he  maun 
dered  on  about  his  discomforts. 

Everybody  believed  that  Dr.  Caiaphas  would 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

be  the  next  bishop — that  is,  everybody  except 
Dr.  Caiaphas  himself.  He  desired  the  honor  so 
much  that  he  did  not  dare  let  himself  believe — 
hardly  to  let  himself  hope.  He  used  to  go  every 
day  or  two  to  visit  the  dying  man.  It  was  al 
ways  a  distressing  task  to  him,  but  he  resolutely 
set  himself  to  do  it  as  cheerfully  as  possible.  He 
used  to  dread  it  very  much ;  the  sight  of  the  un- 
preventable  squalor  of  a  sick-room,  even  as  com 
fortable  as  this,  was  very  revolting  to  him — the 
smell  of  the  medicines  and  the  sight  of  the  basins 
and  towels,  the  half-drawn  curtains,  the  silent, 
shadow-like  movements  of  the  trained  nurse,  and 
always  the  sick  man  himself — the  centre  of  all 
this  attention — sitting  propped  among  the  pil 
lows  in  a  great  arm-chair  by  the  table.  There 
were  generally  flowers  in  the  tall  tumbler  on  the 
table ;  they  only  made  everything  seem  still  more 
ghastly  with  their  insistence  of  something  sweet 
and  pretty  where  nothing  could  be  sweet  and 
pretty. 

Dr.  Caiaphas  used  to  return  from  such  visits 
with  an  ever-haunting  recollection  of  that  pinch 
ed,  haggard,  eager  face  that  had  once  been  so 
rosy ;  of  the  bent,  lean  figure  that  had  once  been 
so  plump — its  tielpless  hands  and  its  legs  wrapped 
up  in  blankets  —  the  lean  brows  already  gray 
with  the  shadow  of  approaching  death ;  all  these 

90 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

made  still  more  terrible  by  the  attempted  com 
forts  of  the  sick-room. 

At  such  times,  after  his  return  home,  Dr.  Caia- 
phas  would  look  around  at  his  beautiful  books, 
his  little  gems  of  art,  his  engravings,  his  Eastern 
rugs,  his  soft,  delectable  surroundings,  and  won 
der  what  was  the  good  of  them  all  except  to 
cover  over  the  chasm  of  death  so  that  for  a  time 
he  might  not  see  it.  That  chasm  of  death !  What 
was  there  within  it?  Was  there  really  another 
and  a  better  life,  or  only  the  blackness  of  obliv 
ion?  In  a  few  days  now  the  poor  old  man  who 
was  dying  over  at  the  cathedral  yonder  would 
have  solved  the  enigma  —  a  few  days  and  he 
would  either  be  alive  again  or  else  he  would 
know  nothing  at  all.  Dr.  Caiaphas  wondered 
why  he  had  yesterday  bought,  at  so  extravagant 
a  price,  the  Aldine  Virgil  in  its  original  pigskin 
binding.  How  poor  and  foolish  and  petty  was 
the  joy  of  ownership  of  such  a  thing  when  a  man 
must  die  in  the  end ! 

Then,  one  morning  while  Dr.  Caiaphas  was 
busy  writing  at  his  book,  The  Great  Religion  of 
the  World,  the  serving-man  brought  him  a  note. 
He  tore  it  open  and  hastily  read  it.  "Dear 
Dr.  Caiaphas,"  it  said,  "  come  as  soon  as  you 
can  to  the  bishop's  house.  The  bishop  is  sinking 
rapidly."  It  was  signed  by  Dr.  Willington. 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Theodore?"  said  Mrs. 
Caiaphas,  as  she  met  the  doctor  hurrying  down 
the  stairs. 

"My  dear,  the  poor  bishop  is  dying,"  he  said, 
solemnly. 

"  Oh,  Theodore !"  she  cried.  The  first  thought 
that  flashed  through  her  mind  was  of  the  relation 
of  this  coming  event  to  herself — that  maybe,  at 
last,  her  husband'was  upon  the  eve  of  becoming 
the  head  of  the  Church.  She  put  the  thought 
away  from  her  as  quickly  as  she  could.  "Oh, 
Theodore!"  she  cried  again. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  he  said.  And  then  he  kissed 
her  and  left  her. 

The  bishop  was,  indeed,  dying.  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  signs — the  broken,  irregular,  stri 
dent  breathing ;  the  pale,  filmy  eyes,  the  pinched 
nose,  and  the  cavernous  mouth.  Dr.  Willing- 
ton  and  Dr.  Clarkson  were  both  present.  Dr. 
Clarkson  sat  by  the  bedside,  his  finger-tips  rest 
ing  lightly  upon  the  lean  wrist  of  the  uncon 
scious  hand  that  lay  limp  upon  the  coverlet. 
The  trained  nurse  stood  on  the  other  side  of  the 
bed,  her  hands  folded  and  a  look  as  of  patient 
waiting  upon  her  smooth,  gentle  face.  Her  cap 
and  her  apron  added  to  that  look  of  patient  gen 
tleness. 

Mr.  Bonteen,  the  rector  of  the  temple,  and  Mr. 
92 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Goodman,  his  assistant,  were  both  present  in  the 
room.  Mrs.  Godkin  and  her  two  daughters  had 
been  up  nearly  all  night  and  were  not  then  pres 
ent.  Dr.  Willington  had  just  now  sent  them 
down  to  a  broken,  scrappy  breakfast. 

Dr.  Caiaphas  stood  looking  down  into  the  face 
of  the  dying  man.  He  gazed  solemnly  and  silent 
ly.  In  a  little  while  he  also  would  look  like  that 
and  be  as  that — then  he  turned  away.  Mr.  Bon- 
teen  arose  and  shook  hands  silently  with  him. 
There  had  been  a  long  lull  in  the  quick,  harsh 
breathing;  suddenly  it  began  again.  The  door 
opened  and  Mrs.  Godkin  came  into  the  room. 
Dr.  Caiaphas  arose ;  she  gave  him  her  hand.  She 
pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  her 
body  was  shaken  with  sobs.  He  pressed  the 
helpless  hand  he  held.  "The  Lord,"  said  he, 
"will  temper  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb." 
And  then  it  flashed  upon  him  that  he  was  quot 
ing  secular  and  not  sacred  words.  He  looked 
around  but  no  one  else  seemed  to  notice  the 
fact. 

About  noon  Mr.  Thomas  and  Mr.  Algernon 
Godkin,  the  bishop's  two  brothers,  arrived,  and 
then  Dr.  Caiaphas  went  home  to  lunch.     Almost 
never  had  he  realized  the  littleness  of  man's  life 
as  now.     He  could  not  enjoy  the  salmi  of  capon 
—hardly  could  he  enjoy  the  Madeira. 
93 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

At  half -past  two  o'clock  Bishop  Godkin  passed 
away. 

Dr.  Caiaphas  was  elected  his  successor.  The 
day  that  he  was  chosen  was,  perhaps,  one  of  the 
happiest  of  his  life.  He  went  straight  to  his  wife ; 
he  seemed  to  be  walking  upon  air.  He  found 
her  in  her  own  room,  reading  a  magazine.  He 
took  her  face  between  his  hands  and  looked  into 
her  eyes.  "Mary,"  he  said,  "will  you  wish  me 
joy?" 

"Oh,  Theodore,"  she  cried,  rising  and  letting 
the  magazine  fall  to  the  floor,  "  have  you  got  it?" 

He  nodded  his  head. 

She  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  drew 
him  close  to  her.  It  was  almost  exactly  as  it 
had  been  when,  twenty-one  years  ago,  he  had 
told  her  he  had  been  invited  to  the  living  of  the 
Church  of  the  Advent.  There  were  tears  in  her 
eyes  now  as  there  had  been  then.  They  were 
both  of  them  very  happy. 

It  was  arranged  that  no  immediate  change  as 
to  residence  was  to  be  made.  Mrs.  Godkin  and 
her  two  daughters  were  to  continue  to  live  at  the 
bishop's  house  until  the  coming  May,  so  that,  in 
the  mean  time,  they  might  have  an  opportunity 
of  finding  another  house  to  suit  them.  Mrs.  God- 
kin's  brother-in-law  wanted  her  to  remove  to 

94 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

the  northern  metropolis,  but  she  was  too  closely 
identified  with  her  present  home  and  too  deeply 
inrooted  in  its  society  to  be  willing  to  transplant 
her  life  into  other  and  newer  ground. 

The  newly  elected  high-priest  suggested  Dr. 
Dayton,  of  the  neighboring  city,  as  a  fitting  one 
to  succeed  himself  as  rector  of  the  Church  of  the 
Advent. 

"  Since  we  cannot  any  longer,"  said  Mr.  Dor- 
man- Webster,  "have  Dr.  Caiaphas,  under  whom 
we  have  grown  up  into  spiritual  manhood 
through  all  these  years,  and  whom  we  love  so 
dearly" — and  he  reached  across  the  table  as  he 
spoke  and  clasped  the  new  bishop's  hand — "I, 
for  one,  advise  that  we  shall  do  the  next  best 
thing,  and  take  the  man  whom  he  shall  nomi 
nate." 

Bishop  Caiaphas  wrung  Mr.  Dorman- Webster's 
hand  in  silence — he  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak. 

So  Dr.  Dayton  was  invited  to  come  over  and 
take  the  rectorship  of  the  Church  of  the  Advent. 


IX 

THE   MAN    BLIND    FROM    BIRTH 

IT  seemed  to  Bishop  Caiaphas  that  the  new 
rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Advent  was  dis 
posed  to  take  on  himself  almost  over-zealously 
the  office  of  a  new  broom,  and  to  sweep  out  the 
corners  of  the  parish  so  cleanly  and  so  thoroughly 
that  even  many  of  the  little  pet  negligences  of  his 
own  were  likely  to  be  cleared  away  with  other 
things  that  could  be  better  spared. 

There  was,  for  instance,  a  poor  family  in  the 
parish  named  Kettle.  It  consisted  of  a  father, 
a  mother,  and  a  blind  son.  The  father,  Joseph 
Kettle,  had  been  a  cobbler  by  trade,  but  he  had 
become  almost  completely  crippled  by  rheuma 
tism.  The  wife,  Martha  Kettle,  Bishop  Caiaphas 
had  every  reason  to  think,  was  a  very  industri 
ous,  worthy,  honest  woman.  She  was  a  particu 
lar  pensioner  of  Mrs.  Caiaphas's,  who  used  to 
give  the  poor  woman  her  cast-off  dresses.  In 
these  dresses  Martha  always  looked  the  perfec 
tion  of  neatness  and  respectability,  and  Mrs. 

96 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Caiaphas  felt  the  pleasantness  of  doing  a  worthy 
charity  in  giving  away  her  cast-off  garments  to 
one  who  looked  so  well  in  them.  Martha  Kettle 
used  to  do  the  greater  part  of  the  washing  and 
the  finer  laundry  work  for  the  rectory,  and, 
altogether,  the  Kettles  were  quite  a  part  of  the 
family  dependants. 

The  only  apparent  blot  upon  the  otherwise 
fair  surface  of  respectability  of  the  Kettle  family 
was  the  son  of  this  worthy  pair,  one  Tom  Kettle, 
who  had  been  blind  from  his  birth.  He  was 
thoroughly  bad. 

Why  the  children  of  apparently  respectable 
poor  people  so  often  degenerate  into  that  class 
of  the  poor  who  are  not  respectable  is  one  of  the 
mysteries  of  that  Providence  that  so  arranges 
these  factors  of  its  divine  paradox.  The  sons 
of  rich  people  oftentimes  fall  away  from  grace, 
but  they  are  rarely  allowed  to  be  altogether  lost, 
no  matter  how  dissipated  they  may  become. 
The  sons  of  poor  people,  when  they  fall  away 
from  grace,  do  generally  go  altogether  to  the 
bad. 

Tom  Kettle  was  just  such  a  degeneration  from 
the  poor  respectability  of  his  parents.  He  was 
one  of  that  kind  with  whom  you  feel  you  can  do 
nothing  to  help  them — that  they  have  nothing 
you  can  take  hold  of.  They  do  not  seem  to 
7  97 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

have  any  real  affection  for  you,  or  any  feeling 
for  the  kindnesses  you  do  them ;  they  not  only 
do  not  seem  to  feel  any  gratitude,  but  they  do 
not  seem  to  feel  any  responsiveness  to  personal 
kindness;  they  do  not  seem  to  understand  any 
of  the  usual  requirements  of  duty  or  obedience 
or  common  honesty.  They  accept  all  you  do 
for  them  with  a  certain  half -sullen  acquiescence, 
but  they  make  no  return  by  becoming  better — 
they  do  not  even  attempt  to  improve  themselves. 
Such  a  one  was  Tom  Kettle.  Bishop  Caiaphas 
had  known  him  for  all  the  twenty  odd  years  that 
he  had  been  rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Advent, 
but  in  all  that  time  he  did  not  feel  that  he  had 
found  anything  of  Tom  Kettle's  nature  that  he 
could  grasp.  He  used  to  confess,  almost  with 
despair,  "I  cannot  understand  him." 

When  Dr.  Caiaphas  had  first  come  into  the 
parish  the  boy  was  about  eight  or  ten  years  old. 
He  was  a  rather  fine -looking  little  fellow  at 
that  time,  and  his  mother  always  kept  him  well 
dressed.  Dr.  Caiaphas  was  at  once  very  much 
interested  in  him,  for  the  misfortune  into  which 
the  boy  had  been  born  appealed  very  strongly  to 
his  sympathies.  He  managed  to  get  him  entered 
into  the  public  asylum  for  the  blind,  there  to  be 
educated. 

Dr.  Caiaphas  did  not  know  then,  as  he  after- 
98 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

wards  discovered,  that  Tom  was  an  essentially 
dishonest  boy,  mischievous,  a  liar,  and  very  pro 
fane.  He  saw  that  he  was  wilful,  but  then  he 
felt  that  much  must  be  forgiven  to  one  who  was 
so  afflicted.  Tom  Kettle  did  not  refuse  to  go  to 
the  asylum,  but  within  two  weeks  he  had  run 
away.  Dr.  Caiapha's  was  very  angry,  for  he  had 
been  at  much  trouble  to  get  him  entered  at  the 
institution.  He  scolded,  and  Tom  listened  sul 
lenly.  "  I  ain't  a-goin'  back  again,"  said  he ;  "  the 
bread  was  sour  twict,  and  they  don't  give  you 
but  one  help  of  butter." 

Then  Tom's  mother  began  pleading  for  him, 
and  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  he  was  not  re 
turned  to  the  asylum — and  the  authorities  were 
very  willing  that  he  should  not  be  again  sent  to 
them. 

Perhaps,  if  Tom  Kettle  had  had  his  eyesight 
he  would  have  been  a  professional  thief;  as  it 
was,  he  had  become  a  professional  beggar.  He 
was  away  from  home  more  than  half  the  time, 
and  no  one  knew  how  he  was  living  or  what  he 
was  doing.  His  mother  used  to  cry  over  his 
transgressions. 

Such  as  this  was  the  man  blind  from  his  birth 
who  sat  begging  by  the  road-side  when  Christ 
passed  by. 

Christ  opened  his  eyes,  for  the  divine  mercy 
99 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

draws  no  distinction  between  the  righteous  and 
the  sinner — unless  it  be  to  pity  the  sinner. 

One  day  Dr.  Dayton  almost  burst  in  upon 
Bishop  Caiaphas  as  he  sat  in  his  study. 

"Bishop,"  he  said,  "do  you  know  a  fellow 
named  Tom  Kettle?" 

The  bishop  leaned  back  in  his  well-worn, 
leather  chair  almost  with  a  sigh.  He  felt  that 
the  new  broom  was  about  to  begin  sweeping 
again.  "Tom  Kettle,  the  blind  man?"  he 
asked. 

"  Blind?"  said  Dr.  Dayton.  "Are  you  sure  he 
ever  was  blind?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  the  bishop.  "  I  am  as  mor 
ally  sure  of  it  as  I  can  be  of  anything." 

"  To  be  morally  sure  and  actually  sure  are  two 
very  different  things,"  said  Dr.  Dayton.  "What 
do  you  really  know  of  this  man  and  his  family?" 

Dr.  Dayton  often  catechised  Bishop  Caiaphas 
in  this  way,  and  the  bishop  did  not  like  it.  It 
did  not  seem  right  that  he  should  be  so  ques 
tioned  and  cross-questioned  by  the  man  whom 
he  himself  had  installed  in  the  vacant  pulpit  of 
the  Church  of  the  Advent ;  but  he  answered  very 
patiently.  "I  am  afraid  that  Tom  Kettle  is  a 
sad  black  sheep.  As  for  his  parents,  I  have  al 
ways  found  them  good,  decent,  respectable  peo- 

100 


REJECTED    O'F    V.EM 

pie.  We — Mrs.  Caiaphas  and  I — have  known 
them  almost  ever  since  we  have  come  here." 

"  Have  you  often  given  clothes  to  them?"  pur 
sued  Dr.  Dayton,  remorselessly. 

The  bishop  winced  uncomfortably.  He  fin 
gered  the  papers  on  his  desk.  "I  believe,"  he 
said,  "now  and  then  Mrs.  Caiaphas  has  given 
clothes  to  Martha  Kettle." 

Dr.  Dayton  laughed.  "I  am  sure  she  has," 
he  said.  "As  for  Mrs.  Kettle,  she  is,  indeed,  a 
very  thrifty  woman.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know, 
bishop,  that  for  some  time  past  she  has  been  hab 
itually  selling  the  clothes  that  Mrs.  Caiaphas  has 
given  to  her.  She  sells  them  to  the  poorer  neigh 
bors  in  the  house  in  which  she  lives.  She  cleans 
them  and  mends  them,  and  then  sells  them." 

Bishop  Caiaphas  could  not  believe  this.  "  Oh, 
doctor,"  he  said,  "surely  you  are  mistaken  in 
this.  I  have  known  Martha  Kettle  intimately 
for  years,  and  I  cannot  believe  she  would  do  such 
a  thing." 

Dr.  Dayton  laughed  again.  ' '  My  dear  friend, ' ' 
he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  bishop's  shoulder, 
"  the  fact  is  that  your  warmly  affectionate  nature 
lays  you  peculiarly  open  to  the  attacks  of  design 
ing  people.  Only  yesterday  this  woman  sold  a 
black  dress  that  Mrs.  Caiaphas  had  given  her  to 
a  poor  sewing- woman  on  the  flat  above.  A  great 
101 


OF    MEN 

many  little  things  make  me  think  that  these 
Kettles  are  more  sly  than  simple.  The  poor  peo 
ple  in  the  parish  have  seen  that  they  were — if 
I  may  so  phrase  it — pets  of  yours  and  of  Mrs. 
Caiaphas's,  and  many  things  that  you  might  have 
known  have  been  kept  from  you  because  they 
were  afraid  to  tell." , 

Poor  Bishop  Caiaphas  felt  that  the  new  broom 
had  swept  out  a  corner  that  was  especially  dear 
to  him.  Added  to  this  was  that  singular  bitter 
ness  that  one  feels  in  finding  that  one's  impulses 
of  charity  and  generosity  have  been  imposed 
upon.  He  tried  to  excuse  Martha  Kettle,  but 
he  felt  that  if  what  Dr.  Dayton  said  were  true, 
Martha  could  never  be  the  same  to  him  again. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  I  don't  quite  see 
the  heinousness  of  this  offence.  The  clothes  were 
given  to  her,  and  she  could  do  as  she  chose  with 
them.  I  had  rather  she  had  worn  them  herself, 
but,  after  they  were  given  to  her,  I  don't  see  that 
I  could  dictate  what  she  should  do  with  them." 

"Just  so,"  said  Dr.  Dayton;  "but,  if  you  will 
forgive  me,  I  think  it  would  have  been  wiser  not 
to  have  given  her  so  much.  However,  that  is 
only  a  little  matter — a  straw  that  may  show  the 
drift  of  the  wind.  What  I  chiefly  came  to  you 
about  was  concerning  this  man  Tom  Kettle.  I 
have  only  spoken  of  this  other  little  thing  because 
102 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

T  have  questioned  in  my  own  mind  whether  this 
family  that  you  have  helped  so  liberally,  and 
who  have  deceived  you  so  entirely  in  small 
things,  may  not  have  deceived  you  in  great 
things.  This  is  why  I  asked  you  if  you  were 
sure  that  Tom  Kettle  was  really  blind.  Day 
before  yesterday  he  met  this  Healer  that  the 
poor  people  are  making  such  a  hubbub  about. 
He  came  back  with  his  eyesight  as  sharp  as  is 
mine  at  this  very  minute.  He  claims  that  he 
was  miraculously  cured.  Is  it  not  possible  that 
these  people  have  been  deceiving  you  all  this 
time,  and  that  the  man  never  was  blind?  I 
don't  know  how  you  yourself  feel  about  all 
this  business,  bishop,"  he  continued,  "but  to 
me  such  trifling  with  things  sacred  is  very  re 
volting." 

"Very,"  said  Bishop  Caiaphas.  Then  he  sat 
in  thoughtful  silence  for  a  while.  "This  is  very 
dreadful  to  me,  Dayton,"  he  said,  at  last — "  very 
dreadful,  indeed.  I  cannot  even  yet  believe  that 
the  parents  of  this  man  are  really  as  deceitful  as 
you  suspect  them  to  be.  I  think  they  erred  in 
turning  my  charity  into  a  matter  of  sordid  gain, 
but  I  do  not  think  they  could  have  deceived  me 
in  such  a  thing  as  Tom's  blindness.  I  confess, 
however,  that  you  have  sadly  shaken  my  con 
fidence  in  them." 

103 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  You  do  not  believe  this  man's  story,  do  you? 
You  don't  believe  that  Tom  Kettle  has  been 
miraculously  cured?" 

"  I  cannot  believe  it — of  course,  I  cannot  be 
lieve  it." 

"Then  what  other  alternative  is  there  but  to 
believe  that  these  people  have  been  deceiving 
you  all  these  years?  Tom  Kettle  himself  is  a 
thorough-going  rogue.  He  is  doing  a  great  mis 
chief  now,  for  I  find  the  poor  people  throughout 
the  parish  are  actually  inclined  to  listen  to  his 
story.  I  find  they  are  talking  a  great  deal  about 
it,  and  it  is  my  opinion  that  if  some  immediate 
means  are  not  taken  to  deal  very  drastically  with 
this  case  that  is  so  palpably  thrust  upon  us,  we 
shall  have  still  more  of  these  poor,  misguided 
people  flocking  away  from  the  Church  to  follow 
after  Christ." 

The  bishop  still  sat  thoughtfully.  "What 
would  you  recommend?"  he  said,  after  a  while. 

"  Well,  if  you  ask  my  advice,  I  should  recom 
mend  that  you  appoint  a  committee  to  examine 
into  this  man's  story;  and  if  we  find — as  I  am 
sure  we  shall  find  —  that  he  is  playing  a  trick 
upon  the  community,  that  he — and,  if  need  be, 
his  parents — be  dismissed  from  the  communion 
of  the  Church." 

"Oh,  Dayton,"  said  the  bishop,  "could  you 
104 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

do  such  a  thing  as  that?  Could  you  come  be 
tween  a  man  and  his  God?" 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Dayton,  "but  I  would  thrust 
myself  between  a  rotten  sheep  and  my  whole 
some  flock,  that  may  else  become  contaminated, 
even  if,  in  doing  so,  that  one  sheep  should  be 
sacrificed." 

Again  the  bishop  sat  for  a  while  in  moody 
silence.  He  was  turning  a  lead -pencil  around 
and  around  between  his  fingers.  "  Very  well," 
he  said,  at  last,  "I  shall  appoint  a  committee, 
as  you  recommend.  How  would  day  after  to 
morrow  do  for  them  to  meet?" 

"At  what  time?" 

"Well,  say  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  here  at 
the  rectory." 

"Very  well;  that  will  suit  me." 

After  the  visitor  had  gone,  the  bishop  went 
straight  to  his  wife  and  told  her  what  he  had 
heard  about  Martha  Kettle. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Caiaphas, 
promptly. 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  true,"  said  the  bishop. 

"If  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Caiaphas,  "I  will  never 
give  her  another  stitch  as  long  as  I  live." 

The  evening  that  the  committee  was  to  meet  at 
the  rectory,  Gilderman  and  his  wife  dined  with 

105 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

the  bishop  and  Mrs.  Caiaphas.  After  the  dinner 
Gilderman  was  to  go  up  to  the  club.  A  reception 
was  to  be  given  to  Secretary  Titus,  and  he  was 
one  of  the  committee  appointed  to  receive  the 
guest  of  the  club. 

When  Gilderman  had  married  Dr.  Caiaphas's 
daughter  it  had  provoked  no  small  degree  of 
talk  in  the  particular  social  set  to  which  he  be 
longed.  It  was  regarded  as  a  distinct  mesalli 
ance  upon  his  part,  and  his  aunt,  Mrs.  de  Monte- 
serrat,  had  been  so  offended  that  she  had  refused 
to  attend  the  wedding,  and  had  not  even  yet 
fully  taken  him  with  his  wife  into  her  favor  again. 

Dr.  Caiaphas  maintained  a  very  philosophical 
attitude  concerning  his  daughter's  exalted  mar 
riage.  "I  believe  Henry  is  a  good,  kind  man," 
he  had  been  heard  to  declare,  "or  else  I  would 
not  have  trusted  so  precious  a  gift  as  my  dear 
daughter  into  his  keeping." 

Nevertheless,  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  was 
enormously  elated  at  her  great  good-fortune ;  for 
a  family  alliance  of  an  ecclesiastic  of  even  so  high 
a  position  as  Dr.  Caiaphas  enjoyed,  with  a  young 
Roman  of  such  an  exalted  altitude  as  Gilderman, 
was  a  matter  to  bring  great  glory  not  only  upon 
the  young  wife  herself,  but  upon  her  entire  fam 
ily.  It  meant  that  the  aegis  of  his  power  and 
wealth  and  influence  was  to  be  extended  over  all 

106 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

the  other  sons  and  daughters — it  made  possible 
opportunities  of  the  highest  advancement  for  the 
young  men,  and  possible  alliances  of  the  same 
social  magnitude  for  the  girls. 

Dr.  Caiaphas  was  very  paternal  towards  his 
son-in-law,  and  the  young  man  was  very  filial 
towards  his  wife's  father.  Nevertheless,  when 
Gilderman  came  occasionally  with  his  wife  to  the 
rectory — to  dine,  perhaps,  with  the  family — it 
was  as  though  he  descended,  bringing  her  with 
him,  from  an  exalted  altitude  to  a  plane  of  a 
lower  atmosphere. 

He  was  very  dutiful,  very  kind,  very  docile, 
but  there  was,  nevertheless,  a  certain  air  of  re 
moteness  about  him,  and  neither  he  nor  they 
forgot  that  he  was  Henry  Herbert  Gilderman, 
the  grandson  of  James  Quincy  Gilderman. 

Upon  this  occasion  Gilderman  sat  with  the 
family  in  the  library  for  a  while  after  dinner. 

Already  the  house  was  beginning  to  assume 
that  cluttered  appearance  that  foreshadows  the 
actual  time  for  moving. 

"It  is  dreadful,"  said  Mrs.  Gilderman,  "to 
think  of  leaving  the  dear  old  home.  I  cannot 
remember  any  but  this.  Horace"--  Horace  was 
Mrs.  Gilderman 's  brother  and  the  bishop's  eldest 
son — "  Horace  himself  was  only  eight  years  old 
when  papa  and  mamma  moved  here." 

107 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  By-the-way,"  said  Gilderman,  "  when  do  you 
expect  Horace?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Caiaphas.  "We 
hoped  that  he  would  be  here  some  time  during  the 
latter  part  of  the  month,  but  I  doubt  now  if  he 
will  be  on  until  May.  He  says  these  fishery  ne 
gotiations  are  keeping  them  all  very  busy  just 
now." 

Gilderman  laughed.  "I  dare  say,"  he  said, 
"  that  the  government  might  dispense  with  Hor 
ace  for  a  few  weeks  if  he  would  make  a  special 
point  of  it." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Caiaphas;  "he 
writes  that  he's  very  busy." 

The  two  younger  daughters,  Ella  and  Frances 
— slim,  angular  girls — the  one  of  twelve,  the 
other  of  fourteen,  were  sitting  under  the  light  of 
the  table-lamp  reading.  Ella,  the  elder  of  the 
two,  kept  her  finger-tips  corked  tightly  in  her 
ears  to  shut  out  the  conversation  while  she  read. 
The  others  sat  by  the  fire,  Mrs.  Caiaphas  shading 
her  face  from  the  blaze  with  a  folded  newspaper. 
The  bishop  appeared  to  be  very  preoccupied. 
Every  now  and  then  Mrs.  Caiaphas  glanced  tow 
ards  him  from  behind  the  newspaper.  "  Don't 
worry  so  much  about  those  Kettles,  Theodore," 
said  she. 

He  looked  up,  almost  with  a  start.  Then  he 
108 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

laughed.  "Why,  I  don't  think  that  I  was  wor 
rying  about  the  Kettles,"  he  said.  "  I  was  think 
ing  about  raising  money  to  finish  that  central 
light  of  the  great  chancel  window  at  the  cathe 
dral.  Mrs.  Hapgood  had  promised  fifty  thou 
sand  dollars  towards  it  before  she  died,  but  she 
left  no  provision  for  it  in  her  will,  and  her  heirs 
do  not  seem  willing  to  carry  out  her  intentions." 

"  How  much  will  it  cost  to  finish  it?"  said  Gil- 
derman. 

"Well,"  said  the  bishop,  "according  to  the 
plan  of  White  &  Wall  it  will  cost  between  sixty 
and  eighty  thousand  dollars." 

' '  Whew ! ' '  whistled  Gilderman .  Then  present 
ly  he  asked:  "Couldn't  it  be  done  for  less  than 
that?" 

"It  might,"  said  the  bishop;  "but  White  & 
Wall's  design  is  very  beautiful." 

"  It  ought  to  be,"  said  Gilderman.  "  Look 
here,  sir;  why  don't  you  get  a  lot  of  your  friends 
together — Dorman- Webster  and  the  rest  of  those 
old  fellows — and  put  it  to  them?  I  dare  say 
you  could  raise  it  in  that  way." 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  the  bishop,  "they've  all 
contributed  so  liberally  lately  that  I  don't  like  to 
press  them  too  far."  Then  he  turned  to  Gilder 
man.  "  You,  for  instance — how  much  would  you 
be  willing  to  contribute?"  he  said. 

109 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Gilderman  laughed.  He,  too,  had  given  a 
good  deal  of  money  to  the  church  of  late,  and  he 
did  not  want  to  give  any  more  just  now.  "  Oh, 
I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I  wouldn't  mind  giv 
ing  you  two  or  three  thousand." 

The  bishop  smiled.  "  That  wouldn't  go  far," 
he  said,  "  and  I  rather  fancy  that  others  may  feel 
as  you  do."  He  looked  up  at  the  clock.  "  Will 
the  study  be  ready  for  the  committee,  my  dear?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Caiaphas.  "I  told  John  to 
have  it  cleared  as  soon  as  we  were  through  din 


ner." 


The  committee  began  arriving  a  few  minutes 
after  the  hour.  The  first  arrival  was  Dr.  Dayton. 
He  came  directly  into  the  library,  almost  with 
the  air  of  ownership.  Indeed,  the  house  was 
really  his  now,  and  the  bishop  was  only  there  on 
sufferance  until  the  late  bishop's  family  should 
vacate  at  the  temple  quadrangle  house.  After 
the  first  few  words  of  greeting,  he  and  the  bish 
op  presently  began  talking  about  the  matter  in 
hand.  Gilderman  sat  listening  to  them. 

"  But  these  poor  people  believe  these  things," 
said  Gilderman,  cutting  in  at  one  point  of  the 
conversation. 

"  If  they  believe  they  must  be  taught  to  dis 
believe,"  said  Dr.  Dayton.  "  All  this  insane  and 

no 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

irrational  enthusiasm  of  religion,"  he  continued, 
"  is  very  revolting  to  me."  He  stood  before  the 
fire  as  he  spoke,  his  legs  a  little  apart  and  his 
hands  clasped  behind  his  back.  "  Surely,"  he 
continued,  "as  we  are  images  of  God  we  must 
know  that  God  is  the  perfection  of  rationality. 
What  pleasure,  then,  can  such  senseless  irration 
ality  be  to  Him?  That  which  delights  God  is  the 
offering  of  common-sense." 

So  spoke  Dr.  Dayton  very  positively,  as  though 
he  knew  exactly  what  God  liked  and  what  He  did 
not  like. 

Presently  others  of  the  committee  began  to 
come,  and  then  the  bishop  and  Dr.  Dayton  went 
into  the  dining-room. 

Gilderman  sat  for  a  while  listening  to  the  in 
termittent  talk  between  mother  and  daughter. 
The  time  was  drawing  very  near  when  Mrs.  Gil 
derman  should  be  confined,  and  Gilderman  was 
at  times  almost  startled  at  the  directness  of  the 
talk  between  the  two.  "  I  wonder  if  they  would 
object,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  "  if  I  went  into  the 
dining  -  room  ?  I  would  like  very  much  to  hear 
this  examination  of  Tom  Kettle." 

"  Why,  no,  Henry,"  said  Mrs.  Caiaphas.  "  I  am 
sure  they  wouldn't  object  at  all." 

Gilderman  hesitated  for  a  moment  or  two ;  then 
he  got  up  and  sauntered  out  of  the  room 

in 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

When  he  came  into  the  dining-room,  he  found 
the  company  all  seated  around  the  table,  and 
Tom  Kettle  standing  before  them.  He  was  a 
rather  short,  thick-set  man,  with  a  heavy,  sullen, 
if  not  lowering  countenance.  His  eyes  were 
small  and  set  far  apart,  his  cheek-bones  wide, 
and  his  face  short,  giving  him  somewhat  the  look 
of  a  male  cat.  He  winked  and  blinked  in  the 
light,  as  though  his  eyes  were  still  weak  and  his 
sight  tender. 

Joseph  and  Martha  Kettle  sat  in  the  farther 
part  of  the  room,  close  against  the  wall.  Mrs. 
Caiaphas  had  given  Martha  Kettle  a  "talking- 
to,"  and  they  were  both  subdued,  almost  fright 
ened.  Bishop  Caiaphas  was  conducting  the  ex 
amination.  He  had  evidently  just  asked  Tom 
Kettle  how  it  was  he  had  received  his  sight.  "  He 
put  clay  on  my  eyes,"  said  Tom,  briefly,  almost 
sullenly.  "  Then  I  went  and  washed  as  He  told 
me,  and  now  I  can  see." 

"How  long  had  you  been  blind  before  this 
happened  to  you?"  asked  Dr.  Dayton. 

"Why,"  said  Kettle,  "that  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do.  I  always  was  blind — I  never  did  see." 

"And  do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Dr.  Dayton, 
"  that  Christ  cured  you  by  simply  rubbing  dirt 
on  your  eyes?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man. 

112 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"And  you  think  it  was  a  miracle?" 

"You  see  it's  a  miracle,"  said  the  man.  "I 
couldn't  see  before,  and  now  I  do  see." 

"  That  is  not  possible,"  said  Dr.  Dayton.  "  A 
man  who  consorts,  as  this  Man  does,  with  sinners 
and  harlots  and  outcasts  of  all  kinds  could  not  do 
such  a  thing.  Such  as  He  could  have  no  power 
from  God,  and  so  He  could  not  cure  you  as  you 
say  He  did." 

Perhaps  all  of  the  committee  thought  that  Dr. 
Dayton  was  taking  too  much  on  himself  in  the 
conduct  of  the  examination.  He  .was  a  new 
comer  among  them,  and  it  was  not  becoming 
that  he  should  arrogate  to  himself  the  conduct 
of  the  meeting,  even  though  the  case  did  come 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  his  own  parish. 

Mr.  Goodman,  Mr.  Bonteen's  assistant  at  the 
temple,  was  one  of  the  committee  He  was  a 
man  of  very  broad  and  liberal  opinions — too 
broad  and  liberal  most  people  thought.  "Stop 
a  bit,  doctor,"  he  said,  "  let  us  be  fair.  The  fact 
that  Christ's  associates  are  of  such  a  sort  does  not 
proclaim  Him  Himself  to  be  abandoned.  If  He 
had  really  been  sent  from  God  to  regenerate  man 
kind  He  would  naturally  begin  with  those  people 
who  underlie  society,  would  He  not?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Dr.  Dayton, 
crossly.  "  My  own  observation  teaches  me  that 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

a  man  cannot  be  good  with  evil  associates.  You 
know  yourself  what  the  Divine  Word  says — 'With 
the  pure  thou  wilt  show  thyself  pure,  with  the  fro- 
ward  thou  wilt  show  thyself  fro  ward.' ' 

"That  is  very  true,"  said  Mr.  Goodman,  "but, 
after  all,  this  question  of  good  and  evil  is  entirely 
relative.  What  these  people  see  as  being  evil  we 
do  not  see  as  being  evil;  what  they  see  as  being 
good  we  do  not.  Do  you  not  think  it  is  a  matter 
for  serious  question?" 

"It  is  a  matter  of  common -sense,"  said  Dr. 
Dayton,  almost  brusquely. 

Mr.  Goodman  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders,  but  his  cheeks  grew  a  little  flushed.  The 
other  members  of  the  committee  felt  very  un 
comfortable. 

"What  do  you  say  of  this  Man  that  cured 
you?'"  said  Bishop  Caiaphas. 

"  I  say  he's  a  prophet,"  said  the  man. 

Dr.  Dayton  laughed.  "  I  think  it's  much  more 
likely  that  you're  a  rogue,  my  friend.  The  age 
of  miracles  is  past  and  done.  In  this  day  of  light 
we  do  not  see  miracles,  nor  does  God  operate  in 
any  other  way  than  according  to  His  divine  law 
of  order  and  of  common -sense.  When  a  man 
who  is  blind  receives  his  sight,  he  does  it  through 
an  orderly  change-  of  his  body,  that  is  just  as 
perfect  and  just  as  slow  and  according  to  divine 

114 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

order  as  the  creation  of  light  itself  is  according 
to  divine  order.  Health  and  disease  must  al 
ways  be  according  to  order,  and  cannot  be  in  any 
other  way." 

The  man  looked  steadily  at  Dr.  Dayton  as  he 
was  speaking.  "I  don't  know  just  what  you 
mean,"  he  said,  "but  if  you  mean  that  I  wasn't 
blind  before,  I  only  know  that  I  was  blind.  Here 
are*  my  father  and  mother — you  can  ask  them." 

The  man  and  his  wife  were  sitting  at  the  far  end 
of  the  room,  as  close  to  the  wall  as  possible,  and 
,side  by  side.  Seeing  the  eyes  of  the  committee 
fixed  upon  them,  the  father  slowly  arose,  hold 
ing  his  cane  somewhat  tremulously  in  his  hand. 
He  had  a  weak  face  and  a  retreating  chin  and  a 
twitching  movement  about  the  jaw. 

"Is  this  man  your  son?"  said  Dr.  Hopkinson, 
of  St.  David's  Church. 

"Yes,  sir,  he  be,"  said  the  man.  The  woman 
also  had  risen  and  stood  close  to  her  husband,  but 
a  little  behind  him. 

"Are  you  sure  he  has  been  blind  for  all  these 
years?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  father,  "  I  am  sure  of  that. 
You  see,  he  couldn't  pretend  to  be  blind  all  these 
years  and  me  and  his  mother  not  know  it." 

"  Do  you  know  how  it  is  that  he  is  now  able  to 
see?" 

"5 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

The  man  wiped  a  tremulous  hand  across  his 
mouth;  the  fingers  were  knotted  and  twisted 
with  rheumatism.  He  looked  hesitatingly  around 
upon  the  circle  of  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  "  I  don't 
know,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  about  it  at  all.  I 
know  the  man's  our  son,  gentlemen,  and  I  know 
he  was  born  blind.  But  how  he  comes  to  see 
now,  and  who  it  was  that  opened  his  eyes,  I  don't 
know  nothing  about.  He  is  of  age,  gentlemen 
all;  ask  him.  He  will  speak  for  hisself." 

It  was  very  plain  that  the  man  was  afraid  of 
the  committee. 

Dr.  Dayton  turned  to  Tom  Kettle.  "My 
friend,"  he  said,  "give  to  God  the  glory  and  the 
praise  for  this  wonderful  thing  that  has  happened 
to  you.  As  for  this  Man — we  all  know  He  is  a 
sinner." 

Tom  Kettle  listened  sullenly.  "  I  don't  know 
about  that,"  he  said,  "whether  He  is  a  sinner  or 
not.  One  thing  I  do  know :  I  was  blind  before, 
and  now  I  see." 

"Come,"  said  another  minister — a  Mr.  Parker 

-"come,  my  friend,  tell  us  truly  what  the  Man 
did  to  you." 

The  man  turned  his  face  towards  the  last 
speaker,  winking  quiveringly  as  the  bright  light 
fell  upon  his  eyes.  "I've  told  you,"  he  said,  with 
a  sudden  burst  of  irritation — "  I've  told  you  be- 

116 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

fore  what  the  Man  did  to  me.  Why  do  you  want 
to  hear  it  again  ?  Do  you  want  to  go  and  be  His 
disciples?" 

"  You  forget  yourself,  my  fine  fellow,"  said  Dr. 
Dayton, ' '  and  you  forget  where  you  are.  We  are 
the  disciples  of  God.  As  for  this  Fellow — who  is 
He?" 

The  man  looked  impudently  into  Dr.  Dayton's 
face.  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  here  is  a  strange  thing. 
You  do  not  know  where  this  Man  comes  from,  and 
yet  He  opened  my  eyes,  and  just  because  He  did 
that  you  say  He's  a  sinner.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
any  other  man  opening  the  eyes  of  a  man  born 
blind?  How  could  this  Man  do  it  if  He  wasn't 
from  God?" 

"You  were  born  in  sin  and  you  live  in  sin," 
said  Dr.  Dayton;  "do  you,  then,  mean  to  teach 
us — ministers  of  God?" 

"Come,  come,  Tom,  that  '11  do,"  said  the  bish 
op;  "don't  say  anything  more.  It  doesn't  do 
any  good." 

Gilderman  stood  looking  on  at  all  this  scene. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  Dr.  Dayton  was  very  dis 
agreeable,  and  he  disliked  him  exceedingly.  Just 
then  a  servant  came  in  and  whispered  to  Gilder 
man,  from  Mrs.  Gilderman,  that  the  carriage  was 
waiting.  "All  right,"  said  Gilderman,  "tell  her 
I'll  be  there  immediately." 

117 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

He  was  curious  to  see  the  result  of  the  meeting. 
He  lingered  for  a  few  moments,  but  the  members 
of  the  committee  were  talking  together.  Tom 
Kettle  still  stood  sullenly  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
Gilderman  was  very  curious  to  hear  from  the 
man's  own  lips  just  what  had  happened  to  him, 
but  there  were  no  more  questions  asked,  and  he 
did  not  have  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  him. 

When  Gilderman  came  out  to  the  carriage 
with  his  wife  the  Kettles  had  just  quitted  the 
rectory.  They  were  walking  up  the  drive  to  the 
street  and  they  did  not  at  first  know  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gilderman  were  so  near.  Tom  Ket 
tle  was  talking  in  a  loud,  violent  voice,  and  his 
parents  were  trying  in  vain  to  silence  him.  "I 
don't  care  a  damn,"  he  was  saying;  "I  don't 
care  if  they  do  turn  me  out  of  the  Church — what 
do  I  care?" 

"Hush,  hush,  Tom!"  said  the  mother;  " don't 
talk  so  loud;  they'll  hear  you." 

"  I  don't  care  if  they  do  hear  me,"  said  he. 
"  They  ain't  done  nothing  for  me.  He  made  me 
see.  I  know  that,  and  they  can't  make  me  say 
nothing  else.  They  may  go  to  hell!  I  know 
what  He  did  to  me." 

"Hush,  hush,  Tom!"  they  could  hear  Mrs. 
Kettle  saying.  "There's  Mr.  Gilderman." 

118 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  Isn't  it  dreadful!"  said  Mrs.  Gilderman.  She 
and  Gilderman  were  standing  under  the  porte- 
cochere. 

"Yes — yes;  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Gilderman. 
Then  he  suddenly  called  out:  "  Here,  Tom;  come 
here  a  minute.  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Although  Tom  Kettle  had  said  that  he  did  not 
care  for  any  of  them,  he  had  ceased  his  loud,  vio 
lent  talking.  He  did  not  come  at  Gilderman 's 
bidding.  "  If  you  want  to  speak  to  me,"  he 
said,  "  you  can  come  to  me  —  I'm  not  coming  to 
you." 

"Very  well,"  said  Gilderman,  "I  will  come." 
He  went  down  the  steps  and  along  the  drive 
way  to  where  the  three  figures  stood  in  the  gloom 
beyond  the  verge  of  light  of  the  electric  lantern. 
They  made  no  attempt  to  escape,  but  it  seemed 
to  him  that  they  shrank  at  the  approach  of  his 
powerful  presence. 

"  It  ain't  our  fault,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  said  Mar 
tha  Kettle,  almost  crying.  "  He  will  talk,  and  I 
can't  stop  him." 

"No,  you  can't,"  said  Tom  Kettle,  sullenly 
but  defiantly. 

"That's  all  right,  Martha,"  said  Gilderman. 
"Look  here,  Tom;  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all 
the  truth  about  this.  What  did  Christ  do  to 
you?" 

119 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

The  man  looked  stubborn  and  lowering.  "  You 
heard  me  tell  'em  in  yonder,  didn't  you?"  said 
he.  "Why  do  you  ask  me  again?" 

"  Because  I  want  to  know.  How  did  He  do 
it?  What  did  He  do  to  you?" 

Tom  Kettle  looked  at  him  suspiciously  for  a 
little  space.  Then  a  sudden  impulse  seemed  to 
seize  him  to  tell  the  story.  "All  right;  I'll  tell 
you,"  he  said.  "  I  was  sitting  alongside  the.road, 
and  I  heard  Him  coming.  I  knew  He  was  some- 
wheres  about,  and  I  knew  it  was  Him  as  soon  as 
I  heard  Him  coming." 

"How  did  you  know  it?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  just  knew  it.  The  people 
were  all  saying,  'Here  He  is'  and  'There  He 
goes.'  I  just  thought  maybe  He  can  cure  me 
of  my  blindness.  I  called  out  to  Him,  'Have 
mercy  on  me !'  They  told  me  to  be  still,  but  I 
wouldn't.  I  just  kept  on  calling,  'Have  mercy 
on  me!'" 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Well,  He  stopped  by-and-by 
and  He  says,  'What  do  you  want  me  to  do  to 
you?'  I  says,  '  Open  my  eyes.' '! 

"What  did  He  do  then?" 

' '  He  talked  with  the  people  for  a  while .  I  don '  t 
remember  what  He  said ;  then,  after  a  little  bit, 
I  felt  Him  rub  something  on  my  eyes  that  felt 

120 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

like  wet  dirt.  Then  He  said  to  me,  'Go  wash 
yourself.'  There  was  a  stream  of  water  running 
there,  and  a  bank  down  from  the  road.  I  went 
down  the  bank  and  acrost  a  bit  of  field.  I 
kneeled  down  by  the  water.  One  of  my  hands 
was  in  the  water — it  was  that  cold  it  cut  like  a 
knife.  Then  I  washed  my  face.  I  thought  I 
had  gone  crazy." 

"Could  you  see  then?" 

"I  could,  indeed,  Mr.  Gilderman  —  so  help 
me  God,  I  could!  I  didn't  know  what  had 
happened  to  me  at  first.  It  just  seemed  as 
though  my  eyes  was  all  broke  up  into  pieces, 
and  they  moved  about  as  I  moved.  I  got  up 
and  ran  away,  and  as  I  did  so  all  these  pieces 
seemed  to  move  about.  I  thought  I'd  gone 
crazy." 

"Come,  Henry!"  called  Mrs.  Gilderman. 

"  In  a  moment,  dear.     Where  was  this?" 

"Over  yonder." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I'm  going  to  find  Him  if  I 
can." 

"  Who?     The  Man  who  healed  you?" 

"Yes." 

Gilderman  had  been  feeling  in  his  vest  pocket. 
"Here,  Tom,"  he  said,  "take  this." 

Kettle  shrank  back.  "I  don't  want  your 
121 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

money,"  he  said,  resentfully,  and  then  he  turned 
away. 

Gilderman,  as  he  went  back  to  the  carriage, 
wondered  passively  why  Tom  Kettle  did  not  take 
the  money.  He  felt  that  he  could  not  just  un 
derstand  the  workings  of  the  man's  soul. 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    DEAD 

THE  De  Witts  were  cousins  of  the  Gildermans. 
Nearly  all  the  great  metropolitan  plutocratic 
families  were  either  allied  or  connected  with  one 
another,  and  the  De  Witts  and  the  Gildermans 
were  doubly  connected  by  marriage  in  the  gen 
eration  of  Gilderman's  father. 

The  De  Witts  had  been  building  a  country- 
house  some  little  distance  out  of  the  city  and  not 
far  from  the  water.  The  architects  and  builders 
and  landscape  gardeners  had  been  at  work  upon 
it  for  over  a  year.  It  was  now  about  completed, 
and  it  was  the  intention  of  the  family  to  open  the 
house  in  May.  It  was  not  even  yet  quite  fur 
nished,  but  it  was  so  nearly  so  that  it  was  prac 
tically  inhabitable.  The  stables  had  been  filled, 
and  a  corps  of  servants  had  been  sent  down  un 
der  Mrs.  Lukens  the  housekeeper  and  Dolan  the 
head -groom.  Halliday,  the  gardener,  already 
had  the  green-houses  and  the  palm-house  looking 
as  though  they  had  been  in  operation  for  twenty 

123 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

years.  The  grounds,  under  the  direction  of  Mr. 
Blumenthal,  had  been  laid  out  in  a  rather  elabo 
rate  imitation  of  a  foreign  park.  He  had  planted 
clumps  of  oak-trees  nearly  full-grown,  which  he 
had  transplanted  at  an  enormous  cost  of  money 
and  labor.  The  arrangement  of  the  clumps  of 
rhododendrons  and  other  flowering  shrubs  was, 
indeed,  a  work  of  art.  The  great  park,  together 
with  the  paddock  and  the  kitchen-garden,  occu 
pied  nearly  a  mile  square  of  ground  that  had  be 
come  very  valuable  as  suburban  property.  The 
estate  included  several  acres  of  ground  in  the 
northwestern  suburb  of  the  neighboring  town. 

There  was  very  delightful  society  in  the  neigh 
borhood  :  the  Laceys,  the  Morgans  and  the  Ap- 
Johns  all  had  country-houses  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood. 

The  De  Witts  were  going  down  to  Brookfield 
for  a  last  look  at  the  house  before  its  comple 
tion.  They  had  asked  Gilderman  to  go  along.  He 
was  not  especially  interested  in  the  new  house; 
indeed,  he  had  become  rather  bored  by  all  the 
talk  and  discussion  concerning  it  in  the  De  Witt 
household  for  a  year  past.  He  had  at  first  de 
clined  to  go,  and  then  had  accepted,  having 
nothing  else  that  morning  especially  to  interest 
or  to  occupy  him.  The  party  who  went  down 
consisted  of  Tom  De  Witt  and  his  mother  and 

124 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

two  sisters  and  Sam  Tilghman.  Tilghman  was 
engaged  to  be  married  to  Bertha  De  Witt,  the 
younger  daughter. 

Nearly  all  the  trains  stopped  at  Brookfield 
Junction,  so  that  one  had  practically  the  choice 
of  any  time  to  reach  there.  It  was  this  accessi 
bility  to  the  metropolis  that  made  the  place  so 
valuable  for  suburban-residence  purposes.  The 
party  went  down  on  the  eleven  o'clock  express. 
De  Witt  had  engaged  the  whole  forward  section 
of  the  parlor-car,  and  they  were  entirely  secluded 
from  all  the  rest  of  the  train.  They  saw  nobody 
at  all  but  themselves,  excepting  the  negro  por 
ter  ;  for  the  conductor  collected  the  tickets  of  the 
party  from  De  Witt's  man  outside. 

Almost  as  soon  as  they  were  safely  ensconced 
in  their  compartment,  Tom  De  Witt  frankly  took 
out  a  newspaper  from  his  overcoat  pocket  and 
began  to  skim  through  it.  He  glanced  up  from 
it  as  the  train  began  moving  out  of  the  station, 
and  then  instantly  resumed  his  perusal.  It  took 
twenty  minutes  or  more  to  run  down  to  Brook- 
field,  and  De  Witt  read  his  paper  nearly  all  the 
while.  The  rest  of  the  party  talked  together  in 
a  dropping,  intermittent  sort  of  a  fashion.  The 
De  Witt  girls  had  a  bored,  tired  expression  that 
was  habitual  with  them,  and  which  was  due,  per 
haps,  to  the  heavy  droop  of  their  eyelids  and  the 

125 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

slight  parting  of  their  lips.  They  looked  very 
much  alike,  and  were  both  handsome  after  a  cer 
tain  fashion. 

The  train  made  no  stop  short  of  Brookfield 
Junction.  As  it  whirled  swiftly  and  tumultuous- 
ly  past  the  several  stations  nearer  and  nearer  to 
Brookfield,  Gilderman,  looking  out  of  the  broad 
plate-glass  windows,  could  see  that  the  platforms 
were  nearly  all  more  or  less  crowded  with  people. 

"  I  wonder  what  all  the  people  are  waiting  for?" 
he  said,  at  last.  "  Do  you  suppose  it  has  anything 
to  do  with  that  Man  they  are  making  such  a  stir 
about?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Tilghman. 

"Isn't  it  dreadful?"  said  Clara  De  Witt. 
"There's  Brookfield,  such  a  nice,  quiet  place, 
and  now  it  is  all  full  of  these  dreadful  crowds 
who  come  just  to  see  the  Man  and  to  hear  Him 
preach.  I  think  it's  perfectly  dreadful.  It 
ought  to  be  stopped;  indeed,  it  ought." 

"How  the  deuce  would  you  stop  it,  Clara?" 
said  De  Witt,  looking  around  the  edge  of  his  news 
paper.  "The  people  have  a  right  to  go  where 
they  please,  so  long  as  they  behave  themselves." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Miss  De  Witt.  "  If  I  were 
in  Pilate's  place  I  wouldn't  let  these  wretched 
people  come  crowding  after  that  Man  the  way 
they  do.  It's  dreadful;  that's  what  it  is." 

126 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Sam  Tilghman  burst  out  laughing.  "Well, 
Clara,"  he  said,  "  we'll  put  you  up  for  nomina 
tion  next  time.  If  we  only  had  you  now  in  the 
place  of  poor  old  Herod,  you'd  make  things  hum, 
and  no  mistake,  and  you'd  be  ever  so  much  more 
proper." 

Gilderman  listened  to  the  silly,  vapid  words  as 
though  they  were  removed  from  him.  He  was 
thinking  about  the  Man  himself.  How  very  in 
teresting  it  would  be  if  he  could  really  see  Him 
and  hear  Him  speak.  If  he  chose  to  go  to  see 
Him  he  might  perhaps  behold  one  of  those  mirac 
ulous  cures,  and  could  know  for  himself  whether 
they  were  real  or  whether  they  were  false. 

"Hullo,  Henry!"  said  Tom  De  Witt,  suddenly. 
"  Here's  an  editorial  about  that  blind  man  you 
were  telling  us  about  the  other  day — that  fellow 
they  turned  out  of  the  Church." 

"  What  does  it  say?"  said  Gilderman. 

De  Witt  did  not  offer  the  paper  to  Gilderman. 
He  ran  his  eye  down  the  editorial.  "It  doesn't 
seem  to  be  very  complimentary  to  the  bishop," 
he  said.  "The  editor  fellow  seems  to  think  it 
was  no  fault  of  the  fellow's  own  that  he  was 
cured,  and  that  they  oughtn't  to  have  turned 
him  out  of  the  Church  just  because  he  got  his 
eyesight  back  again." 

"That  wasn't  the  reason,"  said  Gilderman. 
127 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  It's  a  deuced  pretty  state  of  affairs,  anyhow," 
said  Tilghman,  "if  the  bishop  isn't  fit  to  decide 
who's  fit  to  belong  to  the  Church  and  who's  not 
fit.  If  the  bishop  isn't  able  to  decide,  who  is  able 
to  decide  ?  Ain't  that  so,  Gildy  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Gilderman. 

They  were  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  Brook- 
field.  The  scattered  frame  houses,  some  of  them 
pretentiously  villa-like,  grew  more  and  more  fre 
quent.  Here  and  there  were  newly  projected 
streets  sliced  out  across  the  fields. 

"You  get  the  first  view  of  the  house  just  be 
yond  here,"  said  Mrs.  De  Witt. 

Gilderman  leaned  forward  to  look  out  of  the 
window  in  the  direction  she  had  indicated.  The 
train  was  passing  through  a  railroad  cut  through 
the  side  of  a  little  hill.  As  it  swept  rapidly  out 
from  the  cut  Gilderman  saw  the  distant  slope  of 
the  hill,  scattered  over  with  clumps  of  trees  and 
bushes.  In  a  thicker  cluster  of  trees  at  the  top 
of  the  rise  he  could  see  the  white  gables  and  the 
long  facade  of  the  house,  with  a  glimpse  of  the 
conservatories  behind  it.  As  he  stooped  for 
ward,  looking,  a  thicker  cluster  of  frame  houses 
arose  and  shut  out  the  view. 

The  engine  whistled  hoarsely.  Tom  De  Witt 
was  folding  up  his  newspaper.  The  train  began 
to  slacken  its  speed  and  there  was  a  general  bustle 

128 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

of  preparation.  De  Witt's  man  came  in  the  car 
and  held  his  top-coat  for  him  while  he  slipped 
into  it.  Then  he  helped  Gilderman  and  then 
Sam  Tilghman.  As  Gilderman  settled  himself 
into  his  overcoat  and  took  out  his  gloves,  he 
could  see  through  the  window  the  quick-passing 
glimpse  of  streets  and  thicker  and  thicker  cluster 
of  houses.  Now  there  would  be  an  open  field  - 
like  lot  and  then  more  houses.  There  were  every 
where  groups  of  people.  They  looked  up  at  the 
train  as  it  rushed  past  with  a  gradually  decreasing 
speed.  There  was  a  shrieking  of  the  brakes  and 
a  shuddering  of  the  train  as  it  rapidly  approached 
the  station. 

"  This  is  Brookfield,"  said  the  negro  porter,  as 
he  flung  open  the  door  with  a  crash. 

With  a  final  shudder  and  strain,  the  train 
stopped  in  front  of  a  somewhat  elaborately  artis 
tic  station,  the  platform  of  which  was  filled  with 
a  restless  throng  of  people. 

"Oh,  what  a  horrid  crowd!"  said  Bertha  De 
Witt. 

"  I  suppose  it's  got  something  to  do  with  that 
Man  we  hear  so  much  about,"  said  Miss  De  Witt. 

"You  can't  help  that,"  said  Tom  De  Witt. 
"  They  have  a  right  to  go  where  they  please,  and 
to  crowd  as  they  choose,  and  so  you  must  just 
put  up  with  it." 

9  129 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

The  colored  porter  placed  a  carpet-covered 
step  for  them,  and  helped  the  ladies  officiously 
down  to  the  platform.  He  touched  his  hat  and 
bowed  elaborately  as  Gilderman  gave  him  a  dol 
lar.  The  crowd  stared  at  them  as  the  party 
descended  from  the  coach.  De  Witt's  man  made 
a  way  for  them  through  the  throng,  and  they 
followed  after  him  across  the  platform  and 
through  the  station  and  out  upon  another  cov 
ered  platform  beyond. 

"  Fetch  up  the  traps  as  quick  as  you  can,  Simp- 
kins,"  said  Tom  De  Witt. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  tipping  his  hat. 

There  were  a  number  of  hacks  and  wagons  and 
'busses  occupying  the  space  in  front  of  the  plat 
form.  De  Witt's  landau  and  dog-cart  stood  on 
the  other  side  of  the  station  in  front  of  a  green 
stone  building  that  seemed  to  be  a  drug -store 
and  grocery  -  store  combined.  De  Witt's  man 
bustled  about  urging  the  drivers  of  the  hacks  and 
'busses  to  move  them  out  of  the  way  to  make 
room  by  the  side  of  the  platform.  The  De  Witt 
party  stood  in  a  little  group  crowded  close  to 
gether.  They  talked  with  one  another  in  low 
tones,  and  the  people  stood  about  staring  re 
motely  at  them.  Mrs.  De  Witt  put  up  her  lor 
gnette  to  her  eyes  and  stared  back  sweepingly  at 
the  crowd.  Presently  the  landau  drew  up  to  the 

130 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

platform  with  a  jingle  and  clinking  of  polished 
chains  and  bits,  a  pawing  of  hoofs,  and  a  switch 
ing  of  cropped  tails.  The  footman,  with  breeches 
so  tight  to  his  legs  that  they  fairly  seemed  to 
crack,  jumped  down  and  opened  the  door. 

"You'll  go  over  with  the  ladies,  Sam,"  said 
Tom  De  Witt  to  Tilghman.  'Til  drive  Gilder- 
man  myself  in  the  dog-cart." 

"All  right,"  said  Tilghman,  and  he  stepped 
briskly  in  after  Bertha  De  Witt.  The  door  closed 
with  a  crash,  the  footman  jumped  up  in  his  place, 
and  the  coach  swung  out  of  the  way  with  an 
other  jingle  of  chains  to  make  room  for  the  dog 
cart. 

They  were  all  perfectly  oblivious  of  the  sur 
rounding  crowd,  who  stood  looking  on. 

The  groom  stood  at  the  horse's  head  while  Gil- 
derman  stepped  into  the  cart.  De  Witt  followed 
him;  he  swung  the  horse's  head  around,  and  the 
groom  ran  and  scrambled  up  behind  into  the 
cart  as  it  rattled  away.  The  train  had  begun  to 
draw  off  from  the  station.  The  horse  pulled 
strongly  at  the  reins,  and  De  Witt  drew  him  in 
with  a  flush  of  red  in  his  thin  cheeks.  Gilder- 
man  looked  back  at  the  station.  It  appeared 
flat  and  low  from  the  distance,  its  platform 
crowded  with  people.  As  the  train  moved  more 
and  more  swiftly,  the  horse  began  prancing. 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  Whoa!"  said  De  Witt.  He  gave  the  animal  a 
sharp  cut  with  the  whip  that  made  it  spring  with 
a  jerk.  Then  they  rattled  away  briskly  and 
steadily. 

From  the  suburbs  you  could  just  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  ell  of  the  house.  It  was  surround 
ed  by  trees,  which  were  intended  in  the  summer 
time  to  shut  out  the  view  of  the  town  entirely. 
The  house  looked  out  upon  the  open  country  and 
across  the  low  hills  towards  the  wide  water. 

"That's  the  Ap- Johns'  place,"  said  De  Witt, 
pointing  with  his  whip.  Gilderman  could  see  a 
brown  villa  in  the  extreme  distance. 

Then  they  rattled  down  the  hill  and  through 
the  great  park  gates.  Two  large  linden-trees, 
which  Mr.  Blumenthal  had  had  transplanted, 
stood  on  either  side  of  the  great  gateway  and 
shaded  the  two  gate-houses.  There  was  a  trans 
planted  hedge  and  a  bit  of  an  old  wall  with  carved 
stone  copings.  Mr.  Blumenthal  had  made  the 
gate  and  the  surroundings  look  as  though  they 
had  been  standing  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years. 

"  How  do  you  like  it?"  said  De  Witt. 

"Stunning!"  said  Gilderman. 

Tilghman  and  the  ladies  were  just  getting  out 
of  the  landau  as  the  dog-cart  rattled  up  to  the 
portico  of  the  main  front.  Gilderman  jumped 
out  and  stood  looking  about  him.  The  view 

132 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

was  beautiful.  He  had  not  seen  it  since  the 
summer  before.  He  was  surprised  at  the  change. 
When  he  had  last  been  there  he  had  looked  out 
upon  a  rather  garish,  sloping  meadow  open  to  the 
sky.  There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  lumber 
scattered  about,  and  the  earth  was  trampled 
naked  and  bare.  There  had  been  a  mortar-bed, 
and  beyond,  down  the  slope,  there  had  been  a 
fence  and  a  field,  shaggy  with  long,  rusty,  feath 
ery  grass.  Now  everything  was  trim  and  neat. 
A  long  gravel  roadway  circled  in  a  great  sweep 
around  a  wide  spread  of  lawn,  framed  in  by 
clumps  and  clusters  of  trees  and  rhododendron 
bushes.  You  got  a  glimpse  of  the  stream  at  the 
bottom  of  the  slope  and  a  fringe  of  willows;  be 
yond  that  a  strip  of  lawnlike  paddock,  another 
hill,  and  then,  far  away,  a  thread  of  the  broad 
stretch  of  water. 

The  trees  were  bare  of  leaves  as  yet,  but  Gil- 
derman  could  see  that  it  would  all  be  very  beauti 
ful  in  the  later  spring  and  summer.  They  stood 
for  a  while  enjoying  the  view.  Then  they  all 
went  into  the  house.  Marcy,  who  was  the  ar 
chitect,  met  them  in  the  hall.  With  fine  tact,  he 
had  not  intruded  his  presence  upon  them  until 
now.  He  was  a  soft,  refined,  gentle-spoken  man, 
with  a  delicate,  sensitive,  almost  effeminate  face. 
His  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle,  and  his  beard 

133 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

trimmed  to  a  point.  "Well,  Mr.  De  Witt,"  he 
said,  "  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  with  the  final  re 
sult." 

"Yes,  indeed,  Marcy,"  said  De  Witt. 

"You  have  done  admirably,  Mr.  Marcy,"  said 
Mrs.  De  Witt,  in  her  stateliest  manner.  Mr. 
Marcy  smiled  indefinitely,  with  another  flash  of 
his  white  teeth  under  his  brown  mustache. 

"This  hall  is  stunning,"  said  Gilderman,  look 
ing  about  him. 

Marcy  turned  towards  him.  "I'm  glad  you 
like  it,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  he  said.  "  It  '11  be  very 
much  improved  when  the  paintings  are  hung.  I 
think  the  stairway  and  the  landing  above  is 
rather  a  happy  inspiration,  if  I  may  say  so." 

"Stunning!"  said  Tilghman. 

"Where  did  you  get  those  chairs,  De  Witt?" 
said  Gilderman. 

"  Inkerman  picked  them  up  for  me  at  the  Conti 
sale.  They  came  from  the  Pinazi  Palace,  you 
know.  Good,  ain't  they?"  and  De  Witt  passed 
his  hand  over  the  tapestried  upholstery  almost 
affectionately. 

Just  then  the  housekeeper  appeared  and  drop 
ped  a  courtesy  as  she  came  in  at  the  library  door 
way. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Lukens,"  said  Mrs.  De  Witt,  "  I  wish 
you'd  have  luncheon  promptly  at  one  o'clock. 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Mr.  Gilderman  wants  to  go  back  to  town  on  the 
half -past  two  o'clock  train." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Lukens,  dropping  an 
other  courtesy,  and  again  Mr.  Marcy  smiled  with 
a  flash  of  his  beautiful  white  teeth. 

"  I'd  like  to  begin  by  taking  you  up-stairs,  Mr. 
De  Witt,"  he  said. 

"  Very  well,"  said  De  Witt.  And  then  the  whole 
party  moved  across  the  hall  to  begin  the  inspec 
tion  of  the  house. 

Gilderman  rode  back  to  the  station  behind  the 
same  smart  horse,  and  with  the  same  groom  that 
had  brought  him  over.  The  groom  drove  the 
horse  very  much  faster  than  Tom  De  Witt  had 
done.  As  they  spun  along  the  level  stretch  of 
road,  Gilderman  put  up  his  hand,  holding  his  hat 
against  the  wind,  the  smoke  from  his  cigar  blow 
ing  back  in  his  eyes. 

The  groom  checked  the  horse  to  a  walk  as  they 
ascended  the  steep  hill  beyond  which  lay  the 
town.  "  By-the-way,  John,"  said  Gilderman, 
suddenly,  "  there  seems  to  be  a  good  deal  of  in 
terest  hereabouts  about  that  Man  they're  talking 
so  much  of  just  now." 

The  groom  glanced  quickly,  almost  suspicious 
ly,  at  Gilderman,  and  then  back  at  the  horse 
again.  "Yes,  sir,"  he  said.  "They  do  be  run- 

'35 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

ning  after  Him  a  lot,  one  way  and  another, 
about  here." 

"What  do  you  think  about  Him  yourself, 
John?"  said  Gilderman,  curiously. 

The  man  was  plainly  disinclined  to  talk.  "  I 
don't  know,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know  that  I 
think  anything  at  all  about  Him.  It  ain't  no 
concern  of  mine,  sir." 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  in  Him?"  said  Gilder 
man.  "I'd  really  like  to  know." 

Again  the  man  glanced  swiftly  at  Gilderman. 
"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  he  said.  And  then,  after  a 
pause,  somewhat  cautiously:  "He  have  done 
some  mighty  strange  things,  sir." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Gilderman,  for 
bearing  to  look  at  him. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  but  He  have  been  doing 
some  strange  things,  sir.  There  was  a  man  down 
here  a  week  ago  last  Sunday  as  was  blind.  He 
just  rubbed  some  dirt  over  his  eyes,  and  they  do 
say  it  cured  him." 

Gilderman  did  not  say  anything  as  to  his 
knowledge  of  Tom  Kettle. 

Presently  the  groom  continued:  " There  was  a 
man  down  here  was  a  great  friend  of  His'n.  He 
died  last  Tuesday,  and  they  say  he  wouldn't 
have  died  if  He  had  been  here.  But  He  was 
away  and  the  man  died  kind  of  sudden  like.  He 

136 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

had  been  sick,  but  nobody  knowed  he  was  that 
sick.  They  do  say  the  Man  could  bring  him 
back  to  life  if  He  chose.  I  don't  believe  in  it 
myself,  sir ;  but  that's  what  they  do  say.  They've 
got  the  dead  man  in  a  vault  over  at  the  cemetery, 
and  they  won't  bury  him  till  the  Other  has  seen 
him." 

"Oh,  then  He  isn't  hereabouts?"  said  Gilder- 
man. 

"  He  was  here,"  said  the  man;  "but  He  went 
away  last  Sunday.  They  say  He's  going  down 
to  the  city  some  day  soon,  and  He's  making  His 
plans  for  it.  He  was  to  come  back  here  by  noon 
to-day." 

"Oh,  then  that's  why  all  those  crowds  were 
waiting  at  the  stations,  I  suppose,"  said  Gilder- 
man. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  groom.  "  They  was  wait 
ing  to  see  Him." 

"Who  was  the  man  who  died?"  said  Gilder- 
man,  after  a  little  pause. 

"Why,  sir,  to  tell  you  the  honest  truth,"  said 
the  groom,  "I've  often  seen  him,  but  I  don't 
know  much  about  him.  He  lived  down  in  yon 
part  of  the  village" — pointing  with  his  whip— 
"with  his  two  sisters.  One  of  the  women  ap 
pears  to  be  good  enough,  and  nobody  says  any 
thing  against  her,  but  the  other — well,  sir,  she's 

137 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

been  a  pretty  bad  lot,  and  that's  the  truth. 
They  tell  me  they  used  to  do  all  they  could  to 
keep  her  to  home,  but  she  wouldn't  stay.  She's  at 
home  now,  but  she  was  down  in  the  city  nigh  all 
last  winter.  Her  brother  didn't  try  to  make  her 
stay  at  home,  and  he  couldn't  make  her  stay  if 
he  tried— she's  just  a  bad  lot,  and  that's  all  there 
is  of  it.  They  do  say  she's  different  now,  but 
you  know  what  that  amounts  to  with  that  kind." 

Gilderman  laughed.  The  man,  now  that  he 
was  started,  was  disposed  to  be  loquacious.  The 
groom  shot  a  quick  look  at  him.  They  had  al 
ready  reached  the  top  of  the  hill.  The  declivity 
upon  the  side  stretched  away  down  to  the  town, 
and  in  the  extreme  distance  Gilderman  could  see 
the  low,  flat  roof  of  the  station.  He  looked  at 
his  watch;  it  was  twenty-seven  minutes  past 
two. 

"I'll  get  you  there  in  good  time,  sir,"  said  the 
groom.  Then  he  chirruped  to  the  horse.  The 
animal  gathered  itself  up  with  a  start  and  then 
sped  away  down  the  road  past  the  scattered 
houses  and  the  embryo  streets  staked  out  across 
the  open  fields. 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  Man  yourself,  John?" 
said  Gilderman,  suddenly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  groom.  "Me  and  Jack 
son  was  down  in  the  town  last  Wednesday  night 

138 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

a  week  ago.  He  was  teaching  there  in  front  of 
an  old  frame  church." 

"What  sort  of  looking  man  is  He?"  said  Gil- 
derman;  and  John,  the  groom,  answered  almost 
exactly  as  Latimer- Moire  had  done  one  time  be 
fore. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  He  just  looks  like  any 
other  man." 

Then  they  were  at  the  platform  of  the  rail 
road  station.  Gilderman  jumped  out  of  the  cart. 
He  drew  a  dollar  out  of  his  pocket  and  gave  it 
to  the  man.  "Thankee,  sir,"  said  the  groom, 
touching  his  hat  with  the  finger  that  held  the 
whip.  He  waited  a  little  while  till  Gilderman 
had  walked  away  across  the  platform,  then  he 
turned  the  horse  and  drove  away. 

There  were  a  few  scattered  people  waiting  for 
the  train,  which  was  late.  The  day,  which  had 
been  so  clear  in  the  morning,  had  become  over 
cast  and  threatening.  The  wind  had  become 
cold  and  raw.  Gilderman  turned  up  the  collar 
of  his  overcoat  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
platform. 

Suddenly  it  entered  his  mind  that  he  would 
stay  over  another  train.  He  might  never  again 
have  such  an  opportunity  of  seeing  this  Man 
whom  nearly  all  the  nether  world  now  believed 
to  be  divine.  He  would  have  made  up  his  mind 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

to  stay  only  for  the  latent  shame  of  changing  his 
plans  for  such  an  object.  But,  after  all,  if  he 
choose  to  indulge  his  curiosity  no  one  need  know. 
Finally  he  concluded  if  there  was  another  train 
by  a  quarter-past  three  he  would  stay ;  if  not  he 
would  go  back  home  as  he  had  intended.  He 
would  let  that  decide  the  question.  He  went  up 
to  the  ticket-office.  "  What  time  is  the  next 
train  for  New  York?"  he  asked. 

"Three- twenty-two,"  said  the  clerk,  without 
looking  up. 

Three-twenty-two!  Well,  that  decided  it;  he 
would  go  back  to  the  city.  As  he  came  out  upon 
the  platform  he  heard  the  thunder  of  the  ap 
proaching  train.  Then  it  appeared,  coming  around 
the  curve.  The  brass-work  on  the  huge  engine 
twinkled  as  it  came  rushing  forward.  There  was 
a  screaming  of  the  brakes  as  the  train  drew  shud- 
deringly  up  to  the  platform.  Then  there  was  an 
instant  bustle  of  people  getting  aboard.  Gilder- 
man  walked  forward  along  the  platform  to  the 
parlor-car.  "Chair  in  the  parlor-car,  sir?"  said 
the  conductor,  and  he  nodded  his  head. 

The  conductor  preceded  him  into  the  car  and 
swung  around  a  revolving  seat  for  him.  At  that 
moment  the  train  began  to  move.  Gilderman 
was  yet  standing  close  to  the  door.  As  the  train 
began  moving  an  instant  determination  came 

140 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

over  him  to  stop  over,  after  all.  It  overmastered 
him — why  he  could  not  tell.  He  turned  quickly 
to  open  the  door.  It  stuck,  and  he  had  some 
difficulty  in  pulling  it  open.  The  train  was  mov 
ing  more  and  more  swiftly.  A  brakeman  was 
standing  on  the  platform. 

"  Look  out,  sir!"  he  cried,  as  he  saw  Gilderman 
preparing  to  jump. 

Then  Gilderman  leaped  out  upon  the  platform. 
He  did  not  know  how  fast  the  train  was  going 
until  his  feet  touched  the  earth.  It  nearly  flung 
him  prostrate.  He  regained  his  balance  with  a 
tripping  run.  The  train  swept  along  the  curve 
and  the  platform  seemed  strangely  deserted. 
Then  Gilderman  felt  very  foolish  and  wished  that 
he  had  not  acted  upon  his  impulse. 

He  stood  considering  for  a  while,  then  he  walk 
ed  down  along  the  open  platform  to  the  station. 
He  did  not  at  all  know  what  he  should  do,  now 
that  he  had  stayed.  In  the  morning,  when  he 
had  come  up  from  New  York,  there  had  been  a 
great  sign  of  stir  and  interest;  now  everything 
seemed  unusually  quiet.  The  few  people  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  station  seemed  almost  ob 
livious  of  anything  but  their  own  affairs.  How 
foolish  had  he  been  to  miss  his  train.  A  man 
came  to  the  door  of  the  men's  waiting-room  and 
stood  looking  at  him.  Gilderman  passed  by  with- 

141 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

out  speaking  to  him — then  he  suddenly  turned 
back  and  asked  the  man  whether  He  whom  he 
sought  was  in  the  town. 

"  Yes,  sir,  He  is,"  said  the  man.  "  He  came  an 
hour  or  more  ago." 

"Where  is  He  now?"  said  Gilderman. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "  I  don't  just  know. 
He  went  down  in  the  lower  part  of  the  town, 
there,  with  a  great  crowd  of  people." 

"Which  way  did  He  go?" 

"Over  yonder,"  said  the  man,  pointing  across 
the  railroad  tracks. 

Gilderman  stood  for  a  moment  considering. 
Should  he  stay  where  he  was?  It  looked  very 
like  rain — he  hesitated  —  then  again  came  that 
strange  propulsion  forward,  urging  him  to  pur 
sue  the  undertaking.  He  crossed  the  five  or  six 
broad  lines  of  railroad  track.  He  walked  down 
the  road  and  over  the  bridge.  There  was  a  steep 
embankment  on  the  other  side  of  the  bridge,  and 
the  stream  went  winding  down  the  level,  open 
lot  or  field  below.  Gilderman  wondered  whether 
this  was  the  place  where  Tom  Kettle  had  received 
his  sight.  He  walked  on  for  perhaps  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  without  seeing  any  sign  of  a  crowd.  At 
last  he  came  to  a  sort  of  tobacco-shop  that  was 
half  a  dwelling-house.  He  hesitated  for  a  mo 
ment  or  two  and  then  went  up  the  two  dirty 

142 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

steps  and  pushed  open  the  door.  It  stuck  for 
a  moment,  and  then  suddenly  gave  way  with  a 
loud  jangling  of  a  bell  over  his  head.  The  bell 
continued  a  persistent  tink-tinking  for  some 
time.  The  place  was  full  of  a  heavy,  musty  smell 
that  was  not  altogether  of  tobacco.  A  woman 
emerged  somewhere  from  an  inner  room.  Gil- 
derman  felt  very  foolish.  Then  he  asked  her  if 
she  had  seen  anything  of  the  Man  whom  he 
sought.  He  marvelled  at  the  freak  of  fancy 
that  seemed  to  thrust  him  forward  upon  his 
strange  quest.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was 
suddenly  becoming  translated  into  a  different 
sphere  of  life  from  any  that  he  had  ever  known 
before. 

The  woman  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  or  two 
without  answering.  She  had  a  frowsy  head  of 
hair  and  a  shapeless  figure,  and  was  clad  in  a 
calico  dress.  She  told  him  that  a  crowd  had 
gone  over  towards  the  cemetery ;  that  the  town 
had  been  full  of  people  all  the  morning,  and  that 
they  all  appeared  to  have  gone  over  after  the 
Man. 

"How  far  is  the  cemetery  from  here?"  asked 
Gilderman. 

4 'About  a  mile,  I  reckon." 

44  A  mile?" 

"Yes." 


REJECTED   OF    MEN 

Gilderman  lingered  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
said,  "  Thank  you,"  and  he  opened  the  door  with 
the  same  momentary  resistance  that  finally  gave 
way  to  a  repeated  clamorous  jangling  of  the  bell. 
Again  he  suddenly  realized  that  he  was  enter 
ing  a  strange  life,  such  as  he  had  never  before 
beheld.  He  stood  for  a  while  uncertainly  in 
the  street.  What  should  he  do  next?  He  was 
conscious  that  the  woman  was  looking  at  him 
from  the  store  window,  and  he  realized  how 
strange  and  remote  he  must  appear  in  these  un 
usual  surroundings.  He  could  not  go  a  mile  to 
the  cemetery  and  back  again  in  time  for  his  train. 
A  negro  came  driving  a  farm  wagon  down  the 
road  towards  the  station.  Gilderman  called 
to  the  man,  who  drew  in  the  horses  with  a 
"Whoh!" 

"Look  here,  my  man,"  said  Gilderman,  "I 
want  to  go  out  to  the  cemetery,  and  I  want  to 
get  back  again  in  time  for  the  three-twenty-two 
train.  I  will  give  you  five  dollars  if  you  will 
drive  me  there  and  back."  The  negro  made  no 
reply,  but  he  drew  up  to  the  sidewalk  with  alac 
rity. 

Gilderman  could  see  the  cemetery  from  a  dis 
tance  as  he  approached  it.  It  was  a  bleak,  cheer 
less  place,  and  it  looked  still  more  bleak  and 
cheerless  under  the  damp,  gray  sky  above.  It 

144 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

was  surrounded  by  a  high,  white  paling  fence, 
and  there  was  a  wide  gateway  with  high  wooden 
gate-posts,  painted  white.  Through  the  palings 
Gilderman  could  see  that  the  cemetery  was  half 
filled  with  a  dark  crowd  of  people.  A  straggling 
crowd  still  lingered  about  the  other  gateway. 
There  was  a  ceaseless  hum  of  many  voices.  Gil 
derman  thought  he  heard  a  voice  speaking  with 
loud  tones  in  the  distance.  ''This  will  do,"  he 
said.  "  Let  me  out  here,  and  wait  till  I  come 
back."  As  the  negro  drew  up  the  farm  wagon 
to  the  road-side,  Gilderman  leaped  out  over  the 
wheel.  He  hurried  to  the  gate  of  the  cemetery, 
almost  running.  After  he  had  entered  he  saw 
that  the  crowd  had  gathered  together  beyond  a 
stretch  of  dead,  brown  grass,  and  between  him 
and  them  were  a  number  of  poor,  cheap-looking 
gravestones  and  wooden  head -boards  and  two 
or  three  newly  made  graves.  The  place  looked 
squalid  and  poor.  The  crowd  had  grown  sud 
denly  silent,  as  though  listening  or  waiting.  Gil 
derman  walked  around  the  outskirts  of  the 
throng,  and  then,  finding  an  open  place,  he  push 
ed  his  way  into  it.  He  felt  a  strange  eerie  ex 
citement  taking  entire  possession  of  him.  In 
pushing  his  way  he  pressed  against  the  shoulder 
of  a  woman.  She  wore  a  plaid  shawl,  and  Gil 
derman  noticed  that  indescribable,  musty,  hu- 

145 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

man  smell  that  seems  to  belong  to  the  clothes 
of  poor  people. 

"  Good  Lord,  don't  shove  so!"  said  the  woman. 
She  moved  to  one  side,  and  Gilder  man  edged  his 
way  past  her.  The  press  grew  more  and  more 
dense  the  farther  he  penetrated  into  it,  and  now 
and  then  he  could  not  move.  By-and-by  he 
could  see  before  him  at  some  little  distance  that 
the  crowd  surrounded  a  cavelike  vault,  and  then 
that  the  keeper  of  the  cemetery  was  opening  the 
door. 

Gilderman  had  almost  come  to  the  very  cen 
tre  of  the  crowd.  He  could  see  the  vault  very 
clearly.  He  wondered,  dimly,  whether  he  would 
be  able  to  make  the  three- twenty- two  train,  and 
he  wished  he  had  asked  what  time  was  the  next 
train.  He  pushed  a  little  more  forward,  and 
then  he  could  see  the  faces  of  those  who  fronted 
the  vault.  Two  of  them  were  women,  their  eyes 
red  and  swollen  with  crying.  Some  of  those  who 
stood  near  them  were  evidently  friends  of  the 
family.  One  of  these,  a  woman,  was  crying 
sympathetically,  wiping  her  eyes  with  the  cor 
ner  of  her  shawl.  They  were  all  poor  people. 
One  of  the  two  women  had  that  indefinable  look 
that  belongs  to  a  woman  of  ill  repute.  She  was 
handsome,  after  a  certain  fashion,  but  she  had 
that  hard  expression  about  the  mouth  which 

146 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

there  is  no  mistaking.  Now  her  face  was  wet 
and  softened  with  her  crying. 

They  stood  just  behind  and  over  against  a  man 
whom  Gilderman  at  once  singled  out  as  Him 
whom  he  had  come  tQ  see.  Gilderman  looked  at 
His  face.  Tears  were  trickling  unnoticed  down 
the  cheeks;  the  lips  were  moving  as  though  the 
Man  were  speaking  to  himself.  But  though  He 
was  weeping,  Gilderman  knew  that  it  was  not 
because  of  sorrow  for  the  dead  man  that  He 
wept. 

"Open  the  door!"  cried  a  loud,  clear  voice. 

Gilderman  heard  one  of  the  women  say:  "  He 
has  been  dead  four  days  and  he  stinks." 

The  Other  turned  His  face  slowly  towards  her, 
and  Gilderman  heard  Him  say  to  her:  "  Did  I  not 
tell  you  that  if  you  would  believe  you  should  see 
the  glory  of  God?" 

The  cemetery-keeper  had  opened  the  door. 
Gilderman  was  watching  tensely  and  curiously. 
He  wondered  what  the  Other  was  going  to  do. 
He  supposed  that  some  singular  funeral  cere 
mony  was  about  to  take  place. 

The  Man  raised  His  face  and  looked  up  into 
the  gray  and  cheerless  sky.  He  began  speaking 
in  a  loud,  distinct  voice,  but  just  what  He  said 
Gilderman  could  not  understand.  Presently  He 
ceased  speaking,  and  then  followed  a  perfectly 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

dead  and  breathless  hush.  Then,  suddenly,  in  a 
loud,  piercing  voice,  He  cried  out,  "  Lazarus,  come 
forth!" 

Again  there  was  a  pause — a  pause  for  a  single 
moment.  Those  near  to  Him  stood  breathless 
and  motionless.  Suddenly  there  was  the  sound 
of  something  falling  with  a  loud  clatter  inside  the 
black  depths  of  the  vault.  The  cemetery-keeper, 
who  stood  near  the  door,  sprang  backward  with 
a  shriek.  Then  a  man  suddenly  appeared  at  the 
mouth  of  the  vault.  He  stood  for  a  moment  at 
the  door  of  the  pit,  craning  his  neck  and  peering 
around  with  a  strange,  bewildered  look.  His 
white,  lean  face  was  bound  about  with  a  cloth, 
his  eyes  were  somewhat  dazed  and  bewildered. 
He  plucked  at  the  cloth  about  his  face,  and  then 
he  came  up  out  of  the  vault.  All  about  where 
Gilderman  stood  there  was  a  tumult  of  shrieks 
and  cries — a  violent  commotion  swept  the  crowd 
like  a  whirlwind.  Gilderman  hardly  heard  it. 
He  saw  everything  dizzily,  as  though  it  were  not 
real.  What  did  it  all  mean ;  was  he  really  seeing 
a  dreadful  miracle  performed;  were  all  those 
people  real?  Suddenly  he  felt  some  one  clutch 
him  and  fall,  struggling,  against  him.  He  looked 
down.  A  woman  had  fallen  in  a  fit  at  his  feet. 
Gilderman  awoke  to  himself  with  a  shock  and 
began  to  struggle  violently  backward  through  the 

148 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

crowd.  He  hardly  knew  what  he  was  doing. 
He  elbowed  his  way,  struggling  and  trampling, 
and  striving  to  get  out  of  the  press.  He  did 
not  know  himself;  he  was  as  another  man.  He 
knew  in  his  soul  that  he  had,  indeed,  seen  a  mir 
acle — a  dreadful,  an  astounding  miracle!  He 
was  in  a  state  of  blind  terror — terror  of  what  was 
to  happen  next.  Presently  he  found  himself  out 
of  the  thick  of  the  crowd.  He  ran  away  across 
the  graves.  The  crowd  behind  him  was  crying 
and  screaming.  Gilderman  found  that  he  was 
running  towards  the  entrance  gateway.  Then 
he  was  out  of  the  place.  He  seemed  to  breathe 
more  freely.  The  negro  with  the  cart  was  still 
waiting  for  him. 

"What's  the  matter  over  there?"  he  said. 
"  What  have  they  been  doing?"  Gilderman  did 
not  reply.  He  sprang  into  the  wagon.  "Any 
thing  happened  over  there?"  the  man  asked  once 
more.  Then  he  added:  "Why,  you're  as  white 
as  a  sheet." 

"Can  you  make  the  three-twenty-two  train?" 
cried  Gilderman. 

"I  don't  know.  What  time  is  it  now?"  said 
the  man. 

Gilderman  looked  at  his  watch,  which  he  held 
in  a  shaking  and  trembling  hand.  "  It's  a  quar 
ter-past  three,"  he  said.  Had  it  been  only  three- 

149 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

quarters  of  an  hour  since  he  had  leaped  from  the 
moving  train  to  the  platform? 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  ketch  her  now, 
unless  she's  late,"  the  man  was  saying,  but  it 
sounded  to  Gilderman  as  though  his  voice  came 
from  a  great  distance  away. 

The  train  was  already  at  the  station  when 
the  farm  wagon  rattled  up  to  it.  As  Gilderman 
stepped  aboard  of  it,  it  began  moving.  He  took 
the  first  vacant  seat  that  offered;  it  was  in  the 
smoking-car.  There  was  an  all-pervading  smell 
of  stale  tobacco  smoke,  and  the  floor  under  the 
seat  was  foul  with  the  sprinkling  of  tobacco 
ashes.  He  sat  down  in  the  seat,  pulled  up  his 
overcoat  collar,  and  drew  the  brim  of  his  hat  over 
his  eyes ;  then,  folding  his  arms,  he  gave  himself 
up  to  thinking. 

He  did  not  know  what  he  thought,  and  he  did 
not  direct  his  mind  at  all.  He  thought  about 
what  he  had  seen,  but  the  most  trivial  things  that 
surrounded  him  crept  into  the  chinks  of  his  bro 
ken  and  shattered  intelligence.  He  looked  at  the 
plush  cover  on  the  seat  directly  in  front  of  him— 
the  ply  was  worn  off  in  the  pleats  where  it  was 
gathered  at  the  button,  and  he  thought  trivially 
about  it ;  at  the  same  time  he  saw  the  bleak  and 
naked  cemetery,  with  its  white  paling  fence,  al 
most  as  though  with  his  very  eyes.  There  was 

150 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

a  man  just  in  front  of  him  smoking  a  pipe  and 
reading  a  comic  paper  printed  in  colors.  There 
was  a  garish  caricature  of  Caesar  on  the  front 
page.  The  man  was  looking  steadily  at  it,  evi 
dently  ruminating  upon  its  import.  Gilderman, 
staring  over  his  shoulder,  tried  to  see  the  legend 
below,  but  the  paper  was  too  far  away  from  him 
to  decipher  it.  At  the  same  time  he  thought  of 
that  man  as  he  had  come  up  peering  out  of  the 
vault ;  he  could  see  him  with  the  eyes  of  his  soul 
exactly  as  he  looked.  He  saw  the  face  almost  as 
vividly  as  though  it  really  stood  before  him — a 
thin,  lean  face,  the  unshaven  beard  beneath  the 
chin.  The  man  looked  as  if  he  had  just  climbed 
out  of  his  coffin;  there  was  something  horribly 
grotesque  about  the  black  clothes  and  the  starch 
ed  shirt,  so  exactly  like  the  clothes  an  undertaker 
would  have  put  upon  a  dead  body.  The  man  in 
the  seat  ahead  turned  over  the  paper ;  there  was 
a  comic  picture  of  a  church  sociable  upon  the 
other  page.  Gilderman  looked  at  it,  but  at  the 
same  time  he  thought  of  the  face  of  the  Man  who 
had  raised  the  dead ;  there  was  something  dread 
ful  about  that,  too.  Why  were  the  tears  run 
ning  down  the  cheeks,  and  why  was  He  mutter 
ing  and  groaning  to  Himself? 

The  cloudy  day  was  rapidly  approaching  dusk 
and  they  were  nearing  the  tunnels.     The  brake- 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

man  came  in  and  lit  the  lamp.  Gilderman  watch 
ed  him  as  he  stood  straddling  between  the  seats 
like  a  colossus.  He  turned  back  the  chimney 
of  the  brass  lamp  and  then  lit  it  with  the  match 
which  he  held  .deftly  between  his  fingers.  Gil 
derman  watched  him  light  the  next  lamp  with 
the  same  match.  There  was  something  ghastly, 
when  he  came  to  think  of  it,  about  that  Man 
living  with  the  dead  man  and  his  sisters.  Was 
it  possible  that  He  could  live  amid  such  squalid, 
evil  surroundings,  and  yet  be  divine?  Why  had 
He  cried  and  groaned  and  muttered  ?  What  did 
it  mean?  What  was  He  suffering?  He  did  not 
seem  to  have  been  sorrowing  at  the  death  of  the 
other.  Had  that  one  really  been  dead,  or  was 
it  all  a  trick?  Then  they  rushed  into  the  tunnel 
with  a  roar  and  a  sudden  obliteration  of  the  out 
side  light. 

Gilderman  could  not  tell  his  wife  where  he  had 
been.  He  was  very  silent  and  distraught  all  the 
evening.  His  brain  tingled,  and  he  felt  that  he 
had  endured  a  terrible,  nervous  shock.  He  wish 
ed  he  had  not  gone  to  the  cemetery.  He  knew 
he  would  not  be  able  to  sleep  that  night,  and 
he  did  not  sleep.  He  got  up  and  rang  the  bell, 
and  when  his  man  came  he  told  him  to  bring 
him  a  bottle  of  soda  and  some  whiskey.  He 

152 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

sat  up  and  tried  to  read  the  paper  and  forget 
what  he  had  seen.  He  was  very  tired  of  it,  and 
wished  he  could  obliterate  it  from  his  mind,  if 
only  for  a  little  while.  Then  he  went  to  bed 
again,  and  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning 
began  to  drop  off  into  a  broken  sleep.  But  as  he 
would  fall  asleep  he  would  see  that  figure  again, 
standing  craning  its  neck  against  the  black  back 
ground  of  the  vault,  and  then  he  would  awaken 
once  more  with  a  start  only  to  drop  off  again  and 
to  awaken  with  another  start.  His  nerves  thrill 
ed  and  his  muscles  twitched  at  every  sound.  He 
wondered  if  he  were  going  mad.  He  realized 
that  he  would  go  mad  if  he  gave  way  to  his  re 
ligious  vagaries.  Well,  he  would  have  done  with 
such  things  now  and  forever ;  henceforth  he  would 
lead  a  natural,  wholesome  life  as  other  men  of  his 
kind  lived;  he  would  give  up  these  monstrous 
speculations  into  unrealities — speculations  that 
had  led  him  into  such  a  dreadful  experience  as 
that  of  the  afternoon. 


XI 

NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES 

/^""^ILDERMAN  awoke  in  the  morning  suddenly 
^->and  keenly  wide-awake.  The  sleep,  such  as 
it  had  been,  was  of  that  sort  that  cuts  sharply 
and  distinctly  across  the  thread  of  life,  and  for  a 
few  moments  he  could  not  join  the  severed  skeins 
of  thought  that  he  held  in  his  hand  to  those  which 
had  gone  before.  There  had  been  something  un 
comfortable.  What  was  it  ?  Then  instantly  the 
broken  ends  were  joined  and  recollection  came 
like  a  flash.  Oh  yes;  that  was  it! 

He  lay  in  bed  inertly  thinking  about  it.  A 
feeling  of  stronger  and  stronger  distaste  grew  up 
every  instant  within  him,  but  he  made  no  effort 
to  detach  his  mind  from  its  thought.  By-and-by 
he  found  that  he  hated  it;  that  he  was  deathly 
tired  of  it  all ;  but  still  he  let  his  thoughts  dwell 
upon  it.  How  unnatural,  how  unwholesome  it 
had  all  been,  how  revolting  to  all  that  was  sweet 
and  lucid.  Again  he  realized  that  if  he  tampered 
too  much  with  these  things  he  would  unhinge 

154 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

his  mind.  Yesterday  he  had  almost  believed  that 
he  had  seen  a  miracle;  now,  in  the  calmer,  saner 
morning  light  of  a  new  day,  he  recognized  how 
impossible  it  was.  It  could  have  been  nothing 
but  a  hideous  trick,  devised  to  deceive  those 
poor,  ignorant,  superstitious  wretches  who  fol 
lowed  that  strange  Man  and  believed  in  Him. 
No ;  it  could  not  have  been  all  a  trick,  either,  for 
the  grief  of  those  two  women  had  been  a  real 
grief  and  not  a  simulated  agony.  What  had  it 
been?  Maybe  that  other  man  had  had  a  cata 
leptic  fit.  Ach !  how  ugly  it  all  was — how  poor, 
how  squalid.  That  woman  who  had  fallen  against 
him  in  a  fit — he  could  conjure  up  an  almost  vis 
ible  picture  of  how  she  had  looked  as  she  lay 
struggling  upon  the  ground.  She  wore  coarse 
yarn  stockings,  and  one  of  her  shoes  was  burst 
out  at  the  side.  He  writhed  upon  his  bed.  Ach ! 
he  was  sick,  sick  of  it.  He  wished  he  could  think 
of  something  pleasanter.  He  tried  to  force  his 
mind  to  think  of  the  great  and  coming  hope  of 
his  life.  In  a  little  while  now  he  would  be  a 
father,  and  he  tried  to  forecast  the  joys  of  his 
coming  paternity.  But  when  he  made  the  at 
tempt  he  found  he  could  not  detach  his  mind 
from  that  other  thing. 

He  got  up  and  rang  for  his  man,  who  came 
almost  instantly  at  his  call.     But  even  as  he 

155 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

dressed  he  found  his  mind  groping  back  into  the 
recollections  of  yesterday. 

When  he  went  down-stairs  he  found  that  Mrs. 
Gilderman  had  not  yet  come  down  to  breakfast. 
He  picked  up  the  paper,  but  he  did  not  read  it, 
but  went  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out 
into  the  street.  The  sky  was  still  cloudy  and 
gray,  and  there  was  a  drizzling  rain  falling.  The 
day  seemed  to  be  singularly  in  keeping  with  his 
mood  and  the  strong  distaste  of  life  that  lay 
upon  him.  How  wretchedly  he  had  slept  the 
night  before — that  must  be  what  ailed  him  now, 
to  make  him  feel  so  depressed.  It  must  be  lack 
of  sleep.  He  remembered  how  he  had  heard  the 
clock  strike  four.  He  was  just  dropping  off  into 
a  doze,  and  he  had  awakened  almost  as  with  a 
shock  at  the  tinkling,  silver  stroke  of  the  bell  in 
the  next  room.  He  must  have  fallen  asleep  soon 
after  that.  What  was  so  incomprehensible  in 
the  affair  of  yesterday  was  the  expression  of  that 
face  looking  up  to  the  sky  with  the  tears  running 
down  the  cheeks.  Why  did  He  weep?  Oh,  if 
he  could  only  forget  it  all !  He  was  sick  of  it- 
sick  almost  to  a  physical  repulsion.  If  he  went 
on  thinking  about  this  thing  he  would  certainly 
go  crazy.  Again  he  vowed  that  he  would  give 
up  this  morbid  tampering  with  and  brooding 
upon  religious  things ;  it  was  not  wholesome,  and 

156 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

the  time  would  surely  come  when  his  mind  could 
no  longer  stand  it.  Why  did  not  Florence  come 
down  to  breakfast?  Almost  as  in  answer  to  the 
thought  he  heard  the  rustle  of  her  dress,  and, 
turning  around,  he  found  that  she  had  come  into 
the  dining-room.  "  Why  did  you  not  go  on  with 
your  breakfast,  Henry?"  she  said;  "  why  did  you 
wait?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I  wasn't  hun 
gry." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Aren't  you  feeling  well  ?" 
She  looked  briefly  at  him  as  she  sat  at  her  place 
smoothing  back  the  folds  of  her  morning-gown. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  "  I'm  all  right.  No,  I  don't 
feel  very  well.  How  are  you  this  morning, 
Florence?" 

"Oh,  I  feel  very  well,  indeed." 

She  held  up  her  face  as  he  passed  behind  her, 
and  he  bent  over  and  kissed  it.  Then  a  sudden 
feeling  of  straining  pity  for  her  coming  mother 
hood  seized  him.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
and  then  he  took  her  face  in  both  his  hands 
and,  raising  it,  kissed  it  again.  She  laughed 
and  blushed  a  little.  "What  is  it,  Henry?"  she 
said. 

"Nothing,"  he  answered,  and  then  he  went 
around  to  his  place. 

The  waiter  offered  him  a  dish  of  fruit,  but  he 
157 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

shook  his  head.  "  Fetch  me  a  cup  of  coffee," 
he  said. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  eat  anything?"  said  Mrs. 
Gilderman  as  the  man  poured  out  a  black  stream 
of  coffee  into  a  cup. 

"No;  I'm  not  hungry." 

11  What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"  Nothing ;  only  I  didn't  sleep  very  well.  Maybe 
I'll  eat  something  by-and-by  down  at  the  club." 

He  had  almost  finished  his  cup  of  coffee,  and 
had  just  opened  the  paper,  when  the  man  came 
in  to  say  that  Mr.  Furgeson  was  down-stairs  and 
wanted  to  know  if  he  could  see  Mr.  Gilderman. 
Furgeson  was  one  of  Gilderman' s  agents,  and  he 
had  gone  down  the  day  before  to  the  Lenning 
sale  to  buy  a  famous  hunter  and  two  road-horses. 

"Furgeson?"  said  Gilderman.  Then  he  re 
membered  that  he  had  commissioned  him  to 
buy  the  roan  mare.  "  Oh  yes,"  he  said.  "  Show 
him  into  the  study  and  tell  him  I'll  be  down 
directly."  Furgeson  must  have  bought  Lady 
Maybell  at  the  sale,  then.  As  Gilderman  recol 
lected  the  beautiful  horse  and  thought  that  she 
was  now  his  own,  he  felt  a  distinct  and  positive 
ray  of  pleasure  shoot  athwart  the  gloomy  mood 
of  his  mind.  Lady  Maybell  was  something  worth 
having,  at  any  rate — something  that  would  bring 
a  wholesome  pleasure  to  him. 

158 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"What  does  Furgeson  come  to  see  you  about, 
Henry?"  asked  Mrs.  Gilderman. 

"Well,  I  intended  it  for  a  surprise,"  said  Gil 
derman,  "but  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now.  He 
went  down  to  the  sale  at  Mountain  Brook  Farm 
yesterday.  I  sent  him  down  to  buy  Lady  May- 
bell.  There  was  a  pair  of  road-horses,  too,  I 
thought  would  do  for  the  Graystone  stable." 

"Lady  Maybell!"  cried  out  Mrs.  Gilderman. 
"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  bought  Lady  Maybell, 
Henry." 

Gilderman  laughed.  "Don't  be  in  too  much 
of  a  hurry,  my  dear.  Maybe  Furgeson  hasn't 
bought  the  horse,  after  all."  He  felt  sure  in  his 
own  mind,  however,  that  his  agent  had  bought 
the  horse,  and  it  made  him  very  happy  to  think 
of  it.  He  clung  to  the  sense  of  pleasure  all  the 
more  closely  because  he  recognized  that  it  made 
him  forget  that  other  thing.  It  was  something 
pleasant,  and  he  let  himself  take  pleasure  in  it. 
He  finished  his  cup  of  coffee  and  then  went  down 
into  the  study.  Furgeson  was  sitting  by  the  ta 
ble,  silently  and  patiently  awaiting  his  coming. 
He  arose  as  Gilderman  came  in,  and  stood  hold 
ing  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"Well,  Furgeson,"  said  Gilderman,  "  I  suppose 
you  bought  Lady  Maybell  yesterday.  Where  is 
she?  At  the  stable?" 

159 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"Why — no,  sir,"  said  Furgeson,  "  I  didn't  buy 
her." 

Gilderman  stood,  suddenly  struck  motionless. 
Not  buy  the  horse!  What  did  the  man  mean? 
Why  had  he  not  bought  the  horse?  Had  there 
been  no  sale?  Then  the  dreadful  thought  grew 
slowly  into  his  mind.  Was  it  possible  that  Lady 
Maybell  was  not  to  be  his,  after  all — that  he  had 
missed  obtaining  what  he  wanted?  "What!" 
he  cried  out,  "  you  didn't  buy  the  horse  as  I  told 
you  to  do?  Why  didn't  you  buy  her?" 

"Why,  you  see,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  said  Furge 
son,  "Dawson  —  that's  Mr.  Dorman- Webster's 
man — was  there.  He  ran  the  price  up  against 
me  until  six  thousand  dollars  was  bid.  The  horse 
ain't  worth  the  half  of  that,  and  I  was  afraid 
to  go  any  more." 

Gilderman  still  stood  motionless.  The  sud 
den  and  utter  disappointment  had  fallen  on  him 
like  a  blow,  and  had  struck  down  and  shattered 
asunder  all  the  gladness  that  had  come  to  him. 
Was  he,  then,  not  to  have  Lady  Maybell,  after  all  ? 
Was,  then,  this  pleasure  to  be  taken  away  from 
him?  It  seemed  to  him,  almost  as  with  an  agony, 
that  he  never  wanted  anything  so  badly  as  he 
wanted  that  horse.  There  was  a  feeling  within 
him  that  was  almost  like  despair.  What  had 
possessed  Furgeson  that  he  had  not  done  what 

160 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

he  had  been  bidden  to  do?  A  sudden  fury  of 
anger  flamed  up  within  Gilderman.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me,"  he  cried,  "  that  you  didn't  buy 
that  horse  when  I  especially  told  you  to  buy 
her?"  He  found  that  his  throat  was  choking, 
and  as  soon  as  he  began  to  speak  the  violent  rush 
of  rage  seemed  to  sweep  him  away.  "  Why,  con 
found  you!"  he  cried  out,  "what  do  you  mean 
by  coming  and  coolly  telling  me  such  a  thing  as 
that  ?  What  do  you  suppose  I  sent  you  down  to 
Mountain  Brook  for?" 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  do,  Mr.  Gilderman," 
said  the  man.  "The  horse  wasn't  worth  the 
half  of  six  thousand  dollars,  and  I  was  afraid  to 
bid  any  more.  If  I'd  paid  that  for  her  and  you 
hadn't  been  satisfied — 

"  Confound  you !"  burst  out  Gilderman,  cutting 
him  short.  He  was  so  furious  that  he  hardly 
knew  what  he  was  saying,  and  he  stuttered  as  he 
spoke.  "Confound  you!  I  didn't  send  you 
down  there  to  ap-appraise  the  horse,  did  I?  I 
sent  you  down  there  to  buy  the  horse,  not  to  put 
a  price  on  her.  It  was  none  of  your  confounded 
business  if  I  chose  to  pay  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  for  her — your  business  was  to  buy  her, 
as  I  told  you  to  do."  He  stood  glaring  at  the 
man,  his  bosom  panting.  Furgeson  stood  per 
fectly  silent,  looking  down  into  his  hat.  "The 
ii  161 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

trouble  with  you  is,  Furgeson,"  he  cried  out, 
harshly,  ''you've  got  too  confounded  much 
Scotch  caution  to  suit  me."  He  wanted  to  say 
something  savage,  but  that  was  all  that  came 
into  his  mind.  It  seemed  to  him  to  be  very  in 
adequate.  "You  can't  be  my  agent,"  he  said, 
"  if  you  don't  do  as  I  tell  you.  You'd  better  go 
now." 

"  I  bought  the  two  roadsters  at  a  bargain,  sir," 
said  Furgeson. 

"Damn  the  roadsters!  I  didn't  care  any 
thing  about  them."  Gilderman  went  straight 
back  to  the  breakfast-room.  What  should  he 
do;  he  could  not  bear  to  lose  that  horse.  He 
tried  to  comfort  himself  by  thinking  that  he 
owned  a  half-dozen  horses  finer  and  more  valu 
able  than  Lady  Maybell;  but  he  found  no  com 
fort  in  the  thought.  He  wanted  Lady  Maybell ; 
she  would  have  exactly  suited  Florence  next  fall, 
and  he  could  not  bear  to  have  her  so  snatched 
away  from  him.  Would  Dorman- Webster  sell 
her?  Suppose  he  should  go  to  him  and  tell  him 
that  Florence  wanted  the  horse.  Dorman- Web 
ster  was  very  fond  of  Florence ;  maybe  he  would 
let  him  have  Lady  Maybell  for  her  sake.  All 
this  he  thought  as  he  walked  to  the  dining-room. 
"What  do  you  think,  Florence?"  he  burst  out, 
as  soon  as  he  came  into  the  room.  "That  fool 

162 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

of  a  Furgeson  did  not  buy  Lady  Maybell,  after 
all." 

"Oh,  Henry!"  cried  Mrs.  Gilderman. 

"  Dorman- Webster's  man  was  there  and  bid 
against  Furgeson,  and  Furgeson  funked  when  the 
other  fellow  ran  the  price  up  to  six  thousand, 
and  let  the  chance  of  getting  her  go." 

"Six  thousand  dollars!  Lady  Maybell  wasn't 
worth  that  much;  was  she,  Henry?" 

"  Perhaps  not;  but  it  was  the  horse  I  wanted, 
and  not  the  money." 

"It's  too  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Gilderman.  "Mr. 
Furgeson  ought  to  have  done  as  you  told  him." 

"  Of  course  he  ought,"  said  Gilderman.  "  Con 
founded,  stupid  Scotchman!"  But  he  felt  a 
distinct  feeling  of  comfort  in  Mrs.  Gilderman' s 
sympathy. 

"  Maybe  Mr.  Dorman- Webster  will  be  willing 
to  sell  her  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gilderman. 

"I  don't  believe  he  will,"  said  Gilderman. 
Nevertheless,  a  sudden  ray  of  hope  came  into  his 
mind.  "I'll  tell  you  what;  I'll  ask  him  and  see 
what  he  says,"  he  added.  He  looked  at  his 
watch.  "Let  me  see;  there's  a  business  meet 
ing  or  something  down  at  the  International  this 
morning.  Maybe,  if  I  go  around  there  now,  I'll 
catch  him  before  he  goes  down-town." 

He  did  find  Mr.  Dorman- Webster  at  the  club. 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

One  of  the  club  servants  was  just  in  the  act  of 
helping  the  old  gentleman  on  with  his  overcoat. 
Gilderman  plunged  directly  into  the  business 
upon  which  he  had  come.  "  My  dear  boy,"  said 
Mr.  Dorman- Webster,  settling  himself  into  his 
overcoat  and  straightening  the  collar,  "I  can't 
sell  you  the  horse.  The  fact  is,  Edith— (Edith 
was  his  youngest  daughter) — Edith  fell  in  love 
with  the  horse  last  summer.  No  matter  how 
high  your  man  had  bid,  I  was  bound  to  have 
the  animal." 

"I'll  give  you  seven  thousand  dollars  for  her," 
said  Gilderman,  making  a  last  effort. 

Mr.  Dorman -Webster  shook  his  head,  smil 
ing.  "Can't  do  it,"  he  said.  And  then,  al 
most  in  Gilderman' s  own  words  that  morn 
ing:  "It  isn't  the  money  I  want;  I  want  the 
horse." 

Then  he  went  away,  leaving  Gilderman  full  of 
a  bitter  disappointment  that  seemed  to  blacken 
all  his  life.  He  had  not  hoped  for  much,  but  now 
he  hoped  for  nothing.  He  was  not  to  have  the 
horse,  after  all,  and  his  heart  fell  away  with  de 
spair.  Why,  oh,  why  had  not  Furgeson  bought 
her  in? 

He  went  up  into  the  reading-room  and  sat  him 
self  down  in  a  chair  and  picked  up  a  paper.  As 
he  did  so,  Latimer-Moire  came  into  the  room. 

164 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  Hello,  Gildy !"  he  called  out.  "  You're  in  for  it, 
my  boy!" 

"In  for  it!  In  for  what?"  said  Gilderman. 
"  What  do  you  mean?"  He  had  a  dreadful  feel 
ing  that  something  else  was  going  to  happen 
amiss  to  him.  Then  he  recollected  what  it  must 
be — the  yacht-race.  It  came  to  him  like  a  flash. 
Yesterday  was  the  day  of  the  yacht -race.  In 
the  things  that  had  happened  to  him  he  had  for 
gotten  about  it.  Had  that  also  gone  wrong?  It 
could  not  be. 

"Why,  didn't  you  hear?"  said  Latimer-Moire. 
"The  cablegram  came  half  an  hour  ago,  and  it's 
posted  up  on  the  bulletin-board.  La  Normandie 
beat  the  Syrinx  one  minute  twenty  seconds,  time 
allowance." 

Was  it  then  true?  Gilderman's  heavy  heart 
fell  away  like  a  plummet  to  a  still  lower  depth. 
It  was  not  the  loss  of  the  money  he  had  bet  Ryan, 
but  the  argument  they  had  had  before  all  those 
fellows.  They  had  all  been  against  him,  and  he 
had  been  very  angry  and  excited.  He  had  been 
very  positive  that  the  Syrinx  would  win.  What 
a  bitter  shame  to  be  proved  to  have  been  in  the 
wrong,  after  all.  How  could  he  bear  to  acknowl 
edge  to  all  those  fellows  that  he  had  been  in  the 
wrong?  But  even  yet  he  could  not  accept  such 
defeat.  "  I  don't  believe  it,"  he  said.  "  There's 

165 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

a  mistake.  Why,  just  look  at  the  Syrinx's  time 
against  the  Petrel,  and  the  La  Normandie's  time 
against  the  Majestic." 

Latimer-Moire  burst  out  laughing.  "What's 
the  use  of  arguing  now,  Gildy?"  he  said.  "  Facts 
are  facts,  and  the  fact  in  this  case  is  that  Tommy 
Ryan  and  the  rest  of  us  were  right  and  that  you 
were  wrong.  Come,  Gildy,  knuckle  under  and 
eat  your  humble-pie  like  a  man." 

"I'll  not  knuckle  under  till  I  have  to,"  said 
Gilderman,  savagely.  "I  believe  there  is  some 
mistake  in  the  cablegram,  and  I'll  keep  on  be 
lieving  it  till  I  have  proof  to  the  contrary." 

Again  Latimer-Moire  burst  out  laughing.  ' '  By 
Jove!  Gildy,  I  didn't  believe  the  loss  of  a  five- 
thousand-dollar  bet  would  hit  you  in  such  a  sore 
spot." 

Gilderman  was  so  angry  at  being  misunder 
stood  that  he  did  not  know  what  to  do.  He  shut 
his  teeth  closely.  He  wanted  to  say  something 
savage,  but  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say.  He 
got  up  and  flung  down  the  paper,  and,  without  an 
other  word,  went  into  the  smoking-room  beyond. 
There  were  three  or  four  men  gathered  at  the 
farther  window  sitting  looking  out  into  the  street 
and  talking  together.  There  was  no  one  at  the 
window  nearest  him,  and  he  pulled  up  a  chair  and 
sat  down,  resting  his  feet  on  the  window-sill  and 

166 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

pulling  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes.  Then  he  gave 
himself  up  utterly  to  the  black  gloom  of  the  mood 
that  lay  upon  him.  What  was  there  in  life  that 
was  worth  the  living?  Nothing — nothing.  Every 
thing  went  wrong,  and  there  was  not  a  single 
thing  to  give  pleasure  to  him.  How  miserably 
depressed  and  gloomy  he  felt.  What  could  he 
do  to  escape  it?  Such  moods  as  this  had  come 
upon  him  before,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that 
they  had  never  before  been  as  black  as  this.  It 
must  be  the  wretched  night  he  had  passed  that 
made  him  so  depressed. 

He  tried  to  fix  his  mind  upon  some  higher  and 
nobler  thought — something  to  lift  his  spirit  out 
of  its  depths.  He  almost  prayed  as  he  sat  there, 
feeling  about  in  the  gloomy  mood  for  some  stand 
ing  place  whereon  to  rest.  But  he  could  find  noth 
ing  whereon  to  rest.  He  could  not  lift  himself 
into  any  ray  of  brightness  out  of  the  vapors  that 
beset  him.  Why  the  mischief  had  not  Furgeson 
bought  Lady  Maybell  yesterday;  then  he  would 
not  have  been  suffering  as  he  was  now  suffering. 
And  the  yacht -race — confound  it! — if  he  only 
hadn't  been  led  into  that  argument  it  would  not 
have  been  so  hard  to  bear. 

Suddenly  some  one  tapped  him  with  a  cane 
from  behind  upon  the  top  of  the  hat.  He  turned 
his  head  sharply  and  saw  that  it  was  Palliser. 

167 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"Hey-o,  Gildy !"  he  said,  "La  Normandie  's  beat 
Syrinx.     Did  you  see?" 

Again  that  blind  and  sudden  anger  flamed  up 
in  Gilderman's  heart.  "  Well,  what  if  she  did?" 
said  he,  almost  savagely.  "  Is  that  any  reason 
for  you  to  come  around,  like  a  fool,  knocking  me 
over  the  head  with  your  cane?"  He  took  off  his 
hat  as  he  spoke,  smoothed  the  nap  with  his  coat- 
sleeve,  and  then  put  it  back  very  carefully  upon 
his  head. 

Palliser  stood  staring  at  him.  "  By  Jove! 
Gildy,"  he  said,  almost  blankly;  and  then  he 
asked,  "  Feeling  rusty  this  morning?" 

"  Rusty !"  said  Gilderman.  "  No,  I'm  not  rusty, 
but  I  don't  like  a  fellow  to  come  knocking  my  hat 
over  my  eyes  with  his  walking-stick." 

Palliser  did  not  reply.  He  moved  awkwardly 
over  to  the  window  and  stood  there  for  a  while 
looking  out  into  the  street.  Somehow  the  young 
fellow  did  not  like  to  go  away  directly  as  though 
acknowledging  that  he  was  snubbed.  For  a  while 
there  was  silence,  except  for  a  sudden  burst  of 
laughter  from  the  men  at  the  farther  window. 
"  By  -the  -way,  Gildy,"  said  Palliser,  as  though 
suddenly  recollecting  something,  "  I  was  down  at 
the  Mountain  Brook  sale  yesterday.  Dorman- 
Webster's  man  kind  of  knocked  your  man  out, 
didn't  he,  eh?" 

168 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Gilderman  aroused  himself  almost  violently. 
Why  couldn't  the  man  let  him  alone.  ' '  See  here, 
Palliser,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  want  to  be  rude,  but 
I  ain't  feeling  well,  and  I  wish  you'd  let  me  alone. 
I've  got  a  headache,  and  don't  feel  well." 

"Bilious?"  inquired  Palliser. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  just  want  to  be  let  alone 
-that's  all." 

"Oh,  all  right.  I'll  let  you  alone,"  said  Pal 
liser,  and  then  he  moved  away  and  joined  the 
group  at  the  farther  window,  and  presently  Gil 
derman  heard  his  high  tenor  voice  sounding 
through  the  distant  talk. 

Again  Gilderman  sat  by  himself,  feeling  very 
miserable.  He  was  ashamed  of  himself  for  being 
so  angry,  and  yet  he  could  not  repent  it.  What 
should  he  do?  He  did  not  want  to  go  home  at 
this  hour  of  the  day;  it  would  be  very  dull  and 
stupid.  And  yet  if  he  stayed  any  longer  at  the 
club  all  the  men  would  be  presently  coming  in, 
and  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  each  would  have 
something  in  turn  to  say  either  about  the  yacht- 
race  or  the  Mountain  Brook  sale.  He  could  not 
bear  it.  Where  could  he  go  to  escape? 

Then  suddenly,  for  some  unaccountable  rea 
son,  the  thought  of  the  face  of  Him  whom  he  had 
seen  the  day  before  flashed  upon  his  mind.  Was 
there  any  truth  at  all  in  what  was  said  about  Him  ? 

169 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Maybe  that  Man  could  help  him.  Why  not  go 
and  find  Him  and  speak  to  Him?  A  dull,  latent 
acknowledgment  of  the  absurdity  of  the  sudden 
notion  that  had  seized  him  lay  inertly  beneath 
the  thought,  but  the  thought  itself  had  somehow 
seized  upon  him  very  closely,  just  as  it  had  seized 
upon  him  the  day  before.  Why  not  go  and  find 
this  strange  Man  and  talk  with  Him?  Anyhow, 
it  would  be  something  to  do  to  distract  him  from 
thinking  about  his  disappointments,  and  he  would 
escape  the  annoyance  of  meeting  the  men  as  they 
came  into  the  club.  Maybe  to-morrow,  after  he 
had  had  a  good  night's  sleep,  he  could  better  bear 
meeting  and  answering  them.  Just  now  this  oth 
er  thing  would  give  him  something  to  do. 

He  aroused  himself  and  jerked  back  his  chair. 
He  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  it  was  half- 
past  twelve.  Then  he  went  up  into  the  dining- 
room  and  ordered  himself  a  breakfast.  As  he  sat 
looking  up,  passively,  at  Norcott's  great  picture  of 
the  nude  Venus  surrounded  by  a  flock  of  naked, 
fluttering  Cupids,  he  again  inertly  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  would  go  down  to  Brookfield  by  the 
two-twenty  train.  "  Anyhow,"  he  repeated  to 
himself,  "  it  will  give  me  something  to  do."  Then 
the  waiter  came,  bringing  the  cocktail  that  he 
had  ordered. 


XII 

THE    ONE    THING   WE    LACK 

f^ILDERMAN,  when  he  left  the  club,  found 
^J-that  he  was  in  that  peculiar  psychological 
state  that  comes  upon  one  now  and  then — a  state 
in  which  one  feels  that  one  has  not  altogether 
determined  to  do  a  certain  thing  and  yet  finds 
one's  self  in  the  very  act  of  doing  it.  As  it  had 
been  the  day  before,  so  now  he  found  himself 
possessed  by  a  strange  impulsion  that  drove  him 
forward  as  though  not  of  his  own  volition.  He 
walked  briskly  down  towards  the  depot,  but  it  did 
not  seem  to  him  that  he  even  yet  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  embark  upon  the  undertaking.  Even 
when  he  found  himself  in  the  depot  looking  up 
at  the  time-clocks,  and  saw  that  the  next  train 
left  in  ten  minutes — even  when  he  had  bought  his 
ticket,  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that  he  had  actu 
ally  determined  to  do  what  he  was  about  to  do. 
Such  times  of  almost  involuntary  progression 
towards  some  object  comes  now  and  then  to  every 
man.  It  is  as  though  there  was  some  inner  will- 

171 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

force  that  subjected  the  outer  actions,  urging 
them  forward  to  carry  the  intention  through  to 
its  conclusion.  Gilderman's  mind  did  not  actu 
ally  resist  the  impulse  that  led  him  to  go  down  to 
Brookfield.  He  yielded  himself  to  going,  but,  at 
the  same  time,  he  did  not  yield  a  full  and  complete 
concurrence  to  that  inner  motive  that  impelled 
him  to  go.  The  cause  of  inspiration,  though  he 
did  not  know  it,  was  very  profound.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  simply  allowed  himself  to  drift  as 
circumstances  directed. 

When  he  reached  the  end  of  his  journey,  he 
found  on  inquiring  at  the  station  that  He  whom 
he  sought  was  no  longer  there,  but  that  He  had 
gone  down  towards  the  city  that  morning.  The 
station-master,  who  had  a  little  leisure  between 
the  trains,  told  him  that  he  could  get  a  convey 
ance  at  the  Walton  House.  There  was,  he  said, 
a  very  good  livery-stable  connected  with  the 
hotel.  He  walked  down  to  the  end  of  the  plat 
form  with  Gilderman  and  pointed  out  to  him  the 
direction  he  was  to  take,  and  then  he  stood  for 
a  while  looking  after  the  young  Roman  as  he 
walked  away  across  the  bridge  and  down  the 
road. 

It  was  the  same  direction  which  Gilderman 
had  taken  the  day  before.  Everything  seemed 
strangely  familiar  to  him.  There  was  the  bridge 

172 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

and  the  stream  below  it,  and  the  open  field  and 
the  distant  row  of  frame  houses.  As  he  passed 
the  tobacco-shop,  the  woman  with  whom  he  had 
spoken  yesterday  was  standing  in  the  doorway. 
She  looked  hard  at  him  as  he  passed,  and  Gilder- 
man  felt  a  certain  awkward  consciousness  that 
she  recognized  him. 

Just  beyond  the  tobacco-shop  he  turned  up  a 
side  street  towards  the  hotel.  He  remembered 
now  having  seen  it  the  day  before.  There  were 
men  standing  on  the  rather  ramshackle  porch  in 
front  of  the  hotel,  and  they,  too,  stared  hard  at 
Gilderman  as  he  went  by.  Again,  as  upon  the 
day  before,  Gilderman  recognized  how  distinctly 
out  of  place  he  was  and  how  curious  the  hotel 
loungers  must  be  regarding  him.  He  was  glad 
when  he  found  himself  in  the  open  stable-yard 
out  of  their  sight. 

A  man,  evidently  the  innkeeper  —  a  short, 
stocky,  gray-haired  man — was  standing  watch 
ing  one  of  the  boys  bathe  the  leg  of  an  evidently 
lame  horse.  He  looked  up  as  Gilderman  ap 
proached,  but  he  did  not  move  to  meet  him.  Gil 
derman  walked  directly  up  to  him  and  told  him 
what  he  wanted. 

A  team?  Oh  yes,  he  could  have  a  team.  He 
sized  Gilderman  up  without  at  all  knowing  who 
he  really  was.  Of  course  he  would  want  some- 

173 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

thing  toppy.  Then  he  called  to  a  colored  man 
to  go  tell  Bob  to  put  the  little  gray  to  the  dog 
cart.  He  held  an  unlighted  cigar  between  his 
lips,  and  he  rolled  it  every  now  and  then  from 
one  side  of  his  mouth  to  the  other,  looking  rath 
er  curiously  at  Gilderman.  "  I  suppose  you're  a 
newspaper  reporter?"  he  said,  after  giving  Gilder- 
man's  person  a  sweeping  look. 

"No,"  said  Gilderman,  "I'm  not."  He  vol 
unteered  nothing  further,  and  there  was  that  in 
his  brief  denial  that  did  not  encourage  further 
question.  Every  now  and  then  the  innkeeper 
looked  curiously  at  him,  but  he  ventured  no  fur 
ther  inquiry.  There  was  an  indescribable  re 
moteness  about  the  young  Roman  that  repelled, 
without  effort  and  without  offence,  any  approach 
at  familiarity. 

Then  they  brought  the  gray  horse  out  of  the 
stable  and  began  to  hitch  it  to  the  dog-cart.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  neat,  toppy  little  animal,  and 
Gilderman  looked  upon  it  with  pleasure.  The 
innkeeper  went  over  to  see  that  all  was  right, 
pulling  here  and  there  at  a  strap  or  buckle,  and 
Gilderman,  taking  out  his  cigar-case,  lit  a  cigar. 
The  gray  sky  was  beginning  to  break  up  into 
patches  of  blue,  and  suddenly  the  sun  shone  out 
and  down  upon  his  back.  It  was  very  warm. 
Then  the  driver  jumped  to  his  seat  and  wheeled 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

the  team  out  into  the  stable-yard,  and  Gilderman 
mounted  lightly  to  the  place  beside  him. 

As  the  horse  trotted  briskly  away  down  the 
road  Gilderman  saw,  on  a  distant  hill,  a  far-away 
view  of  the  cemetery  where  he  had  been  the  day 
before.  How  strange  that  he  should  see  it  so 
soon  again.  It  looked  empty  and  deserted  now. 
Then  presently  they  had  left  it  behind  and  were 
out  into  the  open  country.  They  drove  for  some 
what  over  two  miles  without  seeing  any  sign  of 
Him  whom  Gilderman  sought.  There  they  reach 
ed  a  little  rise  of  ground  just  outside  of  a  village, 
and,  looking  down  the  stretch  of  road,  they  could 
see  that  a  crowd  was  gathered  about  a  big  stuc 
coed  building,  which  Gilderman  recognized  as  an 
inn. 

"That's  Him  down  yonder,"  said  the  driver, 
breaking  the  long  silence.  The  dog-cart  was 
rattling  briskly  down  the  incline  road,  and  sud 
denly  Gilderman  found  that  his  heart  was  beat 
ing  very  quickly.  He  wondered,  passively,  why 
it  beat  so,  and  why  he  should  feel  so  strange  a 
qualm  of  nervousness.  He  was  not  accustomed 
to  such  emotions,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  rea 
son  for  it  now. 

The  driver  drew  up  sharply  in  front  of  the  inn, 
and  close  to  the  crowd  gathered  in  front  of  it. 
The  building  was  a  square,  ugly,  yellow  thing, 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

streaked  and  blotched  with  the  beating  of  the 
weather.  Here  and  there  the  stucco  had  broken 
away,  showing  the  bricks  beneath.  A  large  sign 
ran  along  the  whole  front  of  the  building.  It, 
too,  was  weather-beaten,  the  letters  partly  ob 
literated. 

The  crowd  gathered  and  centred  about  the 
corner  of  the  building,  where  there  was  a  plat 
form,  and  beyond  it  a  stable-yard  and  some  open 
sheds.  Almost  instantly  Gilderman  had  seen 
the  face  of  Him  whom  he  sought.  It  was  raised 
a  little  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  for  He  was 
sitting  resting  on  the  corner  of  the  open  platform 
that  ran  along  the  length  of  the  hotel  front.  He 
was  surrounded  by  His  immediate  disciples.  The 
crowd  stood  about  Him,  partly  in  the  road,  part 
ly  upon  the  open  porch.  Some  women  and  two 
or  three  men,  apparently  belonging  to  the  house, 
were  leaning  out  of  the  windows  above  looking 
down  and  talking  together.  There  was  a  cease 
less  buzz  of  talk — a  ceaseless  restlessness  pervad 
ing  the  crowd.  The  central  figure  appeared  to 
be  altogether  unconscious  of  it.  He  must  by  this 
time  have  grown  used  to  being  surrounded  by 
such  numbers  of  people.  He  seemed  to  be  entire 
ly  oblivious  of  everything,  and  sat  perfectly  mo 
tionless,  gazing  remotely  and  abstractedly  over 
the  heads  of  the  people.  His  pale  eyes  appeared 


REJECTED   OF    MEN 

blank  and  unseeing.  His  dress  and  shoes  looked 
dusty  and  travel-worn.  Suddenly  a  light  came 
into  his  eyes,  and  He  turned  directly  towards 
Gilderman.  It  seemed  to  Gilderman  almost  as 
though  the  face  smiled — it  looked  recognition. 
He  and  the  young  man  of  great  possessions  re 
mained  looking  at  each  other  for  a  little  space. 
Then  Gilderman  did  not  know  whether  the  Man 
had  or  had  not  spoken,  but  he  felt  distinctly  that 
he  had  been  summoned  as  though  by  a  spoken 
word.  He  advanced,  hardly  knowing  what  he 
was  doing,  and  the  crowd,  seeing  that  he  wished 
to  speak,  made  way  for  him.  He  pushed  forward 
and  almost  instantly  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  the  Other.  The  profound  and  solemn  eyes 
were  gazing  calmly  and  steadily  at  him.  Gil 
derman  had  no  hesitation  as  to  what  he  desired 
to  say.  The  gloomy  feeling  of  the  morning,  his 
disappointment  and  distresses,  came  very  keenly 
back  into  his  mind  as  he  stood  there.  The  mun 
dane  circumstances  of  his  life — his  ever-present 
sense  of  power  and  of  place— melted  for  the  mo 
ment  like  wax  before  the  flames.  The  young  Ro 
man  stood  before  the  poor  carpenter  as  an  entity 
before  the  Supreme.  "Tell  me,"  he  said,  "what 
shall  I  do  to  earn  eternal  life?" 

"  If  you  would  enter  into  life,"  said  the  Voice, 
"keep  the  Commandments." 

i77 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  Which  Commandments  shall  I  keep?"  asked 
the  young  man. 

"You  know  the  Commandments,"  said  the 
Other.  "  Thou  shalt  do  no  murder.  Thou  shalt 
not  commit  adultery.  Thou  shalt  not  steal. 
Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  witness.  Honor  thy 
father  and  thy  mother.  Love  thy  neighbor  as 
thyself." 

Gilderman  thought  for  a  moment.  He  felt  a 
sudden  flash  of  joy  and  satisfaction.  Why  had 
he  not  thought  of  it  before.  Yes,  that  was  true, 
that  was  the  way  to  be  happy — to  keep  the  Com 
mandments — to  consider  the  happiness  of  others, 
and  not  to  desire  all  for  himself.  How  simple  it 
was.  It  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  had  always 
known  it.  If  he  could  only  do  that,  then,  indeed, 
he  would  be  always  happy,  and  life  would,  indeed, 
be  worth  living.  Then  the  current  of  his  thoughts 
suddenly  changed  their  course.  But  was  it  true? 
After  all,  he  had  kept  the  Commandments — he 
recognized  that  he  had;  and  yet  he  was  not 
happy.  He  did  not  do  violence  to  any  man.  He 
did  not  commit  social  vice.  He  did  not  defraud 
any  man.  He  was  not  prone  to  gossip  of  people 
and  to  -say  ill  of  them  behind  their  backs.  He 
had  been  a  good  son  to  his  father  and  mother, 
and  he  had  been  good  to  his  wife's  father  and 
mother.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  loved  his 

178 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

neighbor  as  himself — that  he  did  not  try  to  get 
the  better  of  any  man,  nor  seek  to  defraud  any 
man.  Yes,  he  had  obeyed  all  these  things,  and 
yet,  in  spite  of  that,  he  was  not  happy.  He  was 
not  happy  at  this  moment.  Then  he  said  to  the 
Man:  "I  have  kept  all  these  Commandments 
from  my  youth  up.  What  else  is  there  I  lack?" 

He  knew  that  there  was  something  that  he 
lacked,  but  he  could  not  tell  what  it  was.  The 
Other  was  still  looking  steadily  at  him.  "  If  you 
would  be  perfect,"  He  said,  "go  and  sell  all  that 
you  have  and  give  it  to  the  poor,  and  then  you 
shall  have  treasures  in  heaven.  Then  come  and ' 
follow  Me." 

Some  of  the  people  began  laughing.  Gilder- 
man  knew  that  they  were  laughing  at  him,  but 
he  did  not  care.  He  stood  perfectly  still,  with 
his  mind  turned  inward.  What  the  Man  had  said 
was  true.  He  saw  it  all,  as  in  a  light  of  surpass 
ing  brightness.  He  was  unhappy,  not  because 
of  the  things  he  lacked,  but  because  he  had  so 
much.  He  saw  it  all  as  clear  as  day.  It  is  the 
lack  of  things  that  produces  happiness,  not  su 
perabundance.  A  rich  man,  such  as  he,  could 
never  be  happy.  If  he  would  be  really  happy, 
he  must  give  up  all.  But  could  he  give  up  all? 
Alas!  he  could  give  up  nothing.  God  had  laid 
the  weight  of  a  great  abundance  upon  him,  and 

179 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

he  could  not  lay  it  aside.  He  could  not  give  up 
that  which  he  possessed,  even  for  the  sake  of 
heavenly  happiness  and  peace.  He  felt  a  feel 
ing  of  great  despair,  and  he  wondered  why  he 
should  feel  it.  Even  yet,  though  he  stood  face 
to  face  with  the  Son  of  Man,  he  did  not  know 
that  it  was  the  divine  truth  searching  the  re 
moter  recesses  of  his  soul. 

He  turned  slowly  and  sorrowfully  away.  As  he 
made  his  way  back  through  the  crowd  he  heard 
the  Voice  saying  to  those  who  stood  about:  "I 
tell  you  this  for  truth,  that  it  is  impossible  for 
a  rich  man  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  I 
say  this  to  you,  that  it  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go 
through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man 
to  enter  the  kingdom  of  God." 

One  of  the  men  then  said  to  Him:  "Who, 
then,  can  be  saved?" 

The  Man  did  not  answer  immediately.  He 
looked  slowly  around  upon  the  little  group  about 
Him.  "With  man,"  He  said,  "it  is  impossible, 
but  with  God  all  things  are  possible." 

One  of  the  disciples,  a  short,  heavily  built  man 
of  middle  age,  with  a  bald  crown  and  grizzled 
beard  and  hair,  said  to  Him :  "  We  have  forsaken 
all  and  have  followed  You.  What  are  we  to  have 
for  that?" 

Then  the  Voice  said : "  I  tell  you  the  truth  when 
180 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

I  say,  that  you  who  have  followed  Me  into  the 
regeneration,  when  the  Son  of  Man  shall  sit  on 
the  throne  of  His  glory,  you  also  shall  sit  upon 
twelve  thrones  judging  all  the  people  of  the 
world.  For  every  one  that  leaves  home,  or 
brothers  or  sisters,  or  mother  or  father,  or  child 
or  lands  for  My  sake,  shall  receive  an  hundred 
fold,  and  shall  inherit  everlasting  life.  But 
many  that  are  first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last 
shall  be  first." 

Gilderman  heard  the  clearly  spoken  words  very 
distinctly.  It  is  probable  no  man  understood 
what  was  meant  unless  it  were  himself.  He,  hav 
ing  just  beheld  the  inner  parts  of  his  own  soul, 
saw,  as  it  were,  a  scintilla  of  the  light — but  only 
a  scintilla.  Who  is  there,  uninspired  by  the  Son 
of  Man  Himself,  who  can  understand  the  purport 
of  that  divine  saying — so  profound — an  abyss  of 
divine  wisdom  ? 

God  have  mercy  on  us  all !  In  these  dreadful 
words  lies  the  secret  of  heaven  and  of  earth  and 
of  all  that  is  and  of  all  that  is  to  come,  and  yet 
not  one  of  us  dares  to  open  the  gates  of  heaven 
ly  happiness.  The  world  seems  so  near  and  that 
other  supreme  good  so  very  remote.  Gilderman 
saw  something  of  the  meaning  of  those  divine 
words;  it  was  only  a  glimpse  of  the  truth,  but 
again  it  filled  his  soul  with  despair.  Once  more 

181 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

he  wondered  dimly  whether  he  felt  that  sudden 
qualm  of  depression  because  he  had  slept  so  ill 
the  night  before. 

What  would  he  have  thought  if  he  had  known 
that  while  he  was  thus  seeking  vainly  after  his 
own  happiness — yes,  at  that  very  moment — his 
wife  at  home  was  wrestling  with  the  pangs  of 
straining  agony. 


XIII 

THE    SHADOW    OF    DEATH 

IT  was  in  the  waning  afternoon  that  Gilderman 
let  himself  into  the  house.  He  looked  about 
him.  The  hall  servant  was  not  there,  and  Gilder 
man  began  stripping  off  his  own  overcoat.  He 
felt  an  unusual  irritation  that  the  man  should 
at  this  time  be  neglecting  his  duties.  He  won 
dered  where  his  wife  was ;  the  house  appeared  to 
be  strangely  silent.  There  was  a  lot  of  letters 
lying  upon  the  tray  on  the  hall  table.  Why  had 
the  man  left  them  there  instead  of  taking  them 
up  to  the  study  ?  He  gathered  up  the  packet  and 
began  shifting  the  letters  over.  There  were  two 
from  the  capital  and  one  from  the  Western  me 
tropolis.  There  was  one  from  Rome — that  must 
be  from  Kitty  Van  Tassle. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Caiaphas  came  out  from  the 
dining-room.  Gilderman  had  not  expected  to 
see  her.  Then  instantly  he  saw  that  she  had 
been  crying.  Her  eyes  were  red  and  her  face 
was  tremulous.  "Oh,  Henry,"  she  cried  out, 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

' '  where  have  you  been  ?  We  have  been  sending 
everywhere  for  you."  She  came  quickly  for 
ward  as  she  spoke  and  caught  him  by  the  hands, 
holding  them  strenuously,  almost  convulsively. 

Gilderman  stood  as  though  turned  to  stone; 
the  silence  of  the  house  had  become  suddenly 
leaden.  His  wife!  What  had  happened?  He 
stood  still,  holding  the  packet  of  letters  unthink 
ingly  in  his  hand.  "What  is  it,  mother?"  he 
said,  forcing  himself  to  speak. 

"Oh,  Henry,"  said  Mrs.  Caiaphas,  "do  you 
know  that  you  are  a  father?  It  is  a  little  son. 
But  poor,  poor  Florence.  It  was  terrible !" 

* '  And  she  ?"  said  Gilderman.  He  dared  hardly 
whisper  the  words. 

"  She  is  well.  She  has  been  asking  for  you  all 
the  while." 

Gilderman' s  heart  leaped  with  a  sudden  poig 
nant  relief  that  was  almost  an  agony.  The  time 
had  come — had  passed,  and  all  was  well;  but  to 
think  that  he  should  have  been  away  at  such  a 
time !  His  mind  flew  back  to  what  he  had  seen 
and  done  that  day,  and  now  he  suddenly  saw,  as 
in  a  clear  light,  how  mad  had  been  the  folly  that 
had  led  him  away  from  home  at  such  a  time  and 
for  such  a  purpose.  Again  he  told  himself  that 
he  would  certainly  go  crazy  if  he  tampered  any 
more  with  such  monstrous  things,  and  once  more 

184 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

he  registered  a  vow  that  he  would  never  again 
make  such  a  fool  of  himself.  Oh,  what  a  fool  he 
had  been !  He  had  crossed  the  hallway  with  Mrs. 
Caiaphas  and  they  were  going  up  the  stairs  to 
gether.  "Where  have  you  been,  Henry?"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  I  was  called  out  of  town  unexpectedly," 
he  replied. 

Dr.  Willington  was  drinking  a  glass  of  Maderia 
in  the  anteroom  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  There 
was  a  crumbled  biscuit  upon  a  plate  on  the  table. 
The  doctor  turned  to  Gilderman  with  a  beaming 
face.  He  reached  out  his  hand,  and  Gilderman 
took  it  and  pressed  it  almost  convulsively.  As 
he  was  about  to  loosen  his  hand  he  caught  it 
again  and  pressed  it,  almost  clinging  to  it.  The 
doctor  laughed. 

"  May  I  see  her?"  said  Gilderman. 

Again  Dr.  Willington  laughed.  "  Not  just 
yet,"  he  said;  "the  nurse  is  with  her  now.  You 
may  see  her  presently." 

Gilderman  heard  a  sharp,  piping  wail  some 
where  in  the  distance.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  new 
born  child.  Mrs.  Caiaphas  had  left  him,  going 
into  the  room  beyond  with  the  doctor,  and  he  was 
left  alone.  He  looked  down  and  saw  that  he 
still  held  the  packet  of  letters,  and  then  again  he 
ran  them  over.  The  Roman  letter  was  for  his 

185 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

wife.  As  he  stood  there  he  heard  the  bishop's 
voice  down  in  the  hall.  At  the  same  moment 
Mrs.  Caiaphas  came  out  of  the  room  again.  She 
was  followed  by  the  nurse.  "You  may  go  in 
now,  Henry,  and  see  her,"  she  said.  The  white- 
capped,  white-aproned  nurse  stood  at  the  door. 
She  was  strange  to  Gilderman,  but  she  smiled 
pleasantly  at  him,  and  he  bowed  to  her  as  he 
entered. 

The  room,  partly  darkened,  was  singularly 
quiet,  singularly  in  order.  It  had  a  look  as  though 
no  one  was  there.  Then  Gilderman  saw  his  wife. 
The  coverlet  was  spread  smoothly  over  her,  and 
her  arms  were  lying  passively  upon  it,  the  hands 
still  and  inert.  Her  eyes  were  turned  towards 
him  and  she  was  smiling.  There  was  a  bundle 
lying  on  the  bed  beside  her  and  a  murmur  came 
from  it.  Gilderman  walked  silently  across  the 
room.  He  knelt  down  beside  the  bed  and  took 
her  hand  in  his  and  kissed  it.  Then  he  leaned 
over  and  kissed  the  soft  lips.  The  assistant  nurse, 
who  had  been  standing  silently  with  folded  hands 
beside  the  window,  passed  noiselessly  out  of  the 
room. 

"  We  have  been  sending  everywhere  for  you," 
the  invalid  said,  in  a  low,  weak  voice.  "  I  wanted 
you — oh,  so  much,  but  now  I  am  glad  you  were 
not  here." 

1 86 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Gilderman  did  not  reply ;  again  his  mind  flew 
back  to  what  he  had  seen  that  afternoon  and  the 
day  before,  but  now  it  did  not  cling  to  it  but  left 
it  instantly.  This  was  the  only  reality,  this  was 
his  life — the  other  was  not.  He  was  still  kneeling 
beside  the  bed  holding  her  hand. 

Mrs.  Gilderman  reached  out  the  other  hand 
and  softly  raised  the  silk  wrapping  of  the  bundle 
beside  her.  Gilderman  saw  the  strange,  con 
gested,  shapeless  little  face,  but  it  did  not  arouse 
any  distinct  emotion  in  him. 

The  next  morning  Gilderman  awakened  very 
early,  but  with  a  sweet  and  tepid  sense  of  renewed 
nervous  vitality.  Even  before  he  was  awake  he 
felt  the  keen  straining  of  a  great  delight  and  joy, 
and  almost  instantly  he  realized  what  it  was. 
Everything  seemed  illuminated  with  the  light  of 
that  joy.  He  lay  in  bed  motionless,  listening  to 
the  distant  sounds  of  the  noises  of  the  street — not 
moving,  but  just  living.  The  day  was  very  bright 
and  the  sun  was  already  shining  aslant  in  at  the 
windows  of  the  dressing-room  beyond.  A  son; 
his  very  own.  His  bosom  filled  full  of  joy  as  he 
lay  there  sunk  in  its  delight.  Then  he  began  to 
think  about  it.  He  seemed  to  look  down  through 
a  long  perspective  of  years  to  come  in  which  the 
child  grew  to  boyhood,  the  boy  to  manhood,  and 

187 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

into  all  the  glory  of  life  and  wealth  and  happiness. 
He  saw  him  at  college — a  fine,  dashing  fellow,  a 
popular  hero.  Then  it  suddenly  came  to  him  to 
wonder — what  if  the  child  grew  up  differently 
from  that — a  poor,  puny  lad,  for  instance — or, 
worse,  if  he  grew  up  vicious  or  unruly  ?  And  then 
there  was  the  possibility  of  death — always  the 
looming  possibility  of  death.  He  tore  his  mind 
away  from  these  vague  discomforts  and  drifted 
back  again  into  the  illumination  of  that  first 
awakening  joy.  Suddenly  the  thought  of  the 
Man  whom  he  had  seen  the  day  before  intruded 
itself  into  his  balmy  meditations.  He  thrust  it 
quickly  away  from  him  and  it  was  gone,  leaving 
only  a  shadowy  spot  of  lingering  darkness ;  once 
more  the  joy  was  there.  His  wife  had  admired 
that  necklace  down  at  Brock's.  He  would  go 
down  that  morning  and  get  it.  He  would  have 
that  big  ruby  added  to  it  as  a  pendant ;  the  col 
ors  would  be  beautiful.  It  was  a  magnificent  set 
of  stones,  and  it  would  make  a  fine  family  piece 
to  be  handed  down  to  future  generations.  He 
laid  a  plan  that  he  would  put  the  necklace  into  a 
bon-bon  box.  He  would  give  it  to  Florence  and 
she  would  say, "  But,  my  dear  boy,  I  can't  eat  bon 
bons."  Then  she  would  open  the  box  and  find 
the  necklace.  What  a  beautiful  morning  it  was 
out-of-doors.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 

1 88 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

never  felt  so  happy  in  all  his  life.  He  raised  him 
self  upon  his  elbow  and  pushed  aside  the  curtains 
and  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was  not  yet  eight 
o'clock,  but  he  felt  that  he  could  not  sleep  any 
more.  He  was  restless  to  get  up  and  enter  into 
this  new  joy  of  his  life,  and  most  of  all  he  wanted 
to  go  down  to  Brock's  and  buy  that  necklace. 

He  arose  without  ringing  for  his  man  and  be 
gan  dressing  himself.  He  did  not  know  where 
the  man  kept  his  clothes.  He  opened  one  draw 
er  after  another,  finding  his  garments  piece  by 
piece.  It  seemed  very  droll  that  he  should  not 
know  where  his  own  clothes  were.  He  laughed; 
he  was  very  elated;  he  was  very  foolish.  He 
did  not  even  know  where  his  bath-towels  were. 
As  soon  as  he  was  dressed  he  went  across  to 
his  wife's  room.  He  stood  there  at  the  door  for 
a  long  time.  There  was  no  sound.  While  he 
stood  there  the  adjoining  door  of  the  dressing- 
room  opened  and  the  nurse  came  out  swiftly  and 
silently.  She  smiled  at  him. 

"How  is  Mrs.  Gilderman?"  he  said,  whisper 
ing. 

"She's  asleep,"  whispered  the  nurse,  in  an 
swer. 

Then  he  went  down-stairs  into  the  library. 
Everything  was  unprepared  for  his  coming.  The 
morning  newspapers  lay  in  a  pile  upon  the  table. 

i8g 


REJECTED   OF    MEN 

He  gathered  them  up  and  went  out  into  his  study, 
and  there  settled  himself  comfortably  in  his  great 
leather  chair  by  the  window  that  looked  out 
across  the  street  to  the  leafless  vistas  of  the  park 
beyond.  How  happy  he  was !  Then  he  opened 
the  papers  and  tried  to  read,  and  recognized  de 
lightfully  that  he  could  not  detach  himself  from 
the  joy  that  possessed  him.  He  was  unable  to 
follow  the  printed  words. 

Suddenly  his  man  came  into  the  room.  He 
started  when  he  saw  Gilderman.  "  I  didn't 
know  you  were  up  yet,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  he  said. 
"You  didn't  ring  for  me." 

Gilderman  burst  out  laughing.  "  No,"  he  said, 
"it  was  very  early,  and  it  wasn't  worth  while. 
I  couldn't  sleep,  and  so  I  just  got  up." 

"  Is  there  anything  that  I  can  do,  if  you  please, 
sir?" 

"  Nothing,  except  to  fetch  me  a  cup  of  coffee," 
said  Gilderman.  "  I'll  not  get  shaved  now  until 
I  dress  again  after  breakfast." 

The  man  lingered  for  an  instant  to  arrange 
something  on  the  table  and  then  went  out  of  the 
room. 

Gilderman  ate  his  breakfast  alone.  As  soon  as 
he  had  finished  he  went  up-stairs  again.  The 
door  of  his  wife's  room  was  open,  and  the  nurse 
came  to  tell  him  that  he  might  come  in.  Her 

190 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

morning  toilet  was  over;  her  face  looked  singu 
larly  sweet  and  pure  and  cool  lying  in  the  half 
shade  of  the  pillow.     She  welcomed  him  with  a 
smile.     As  Gilderman  came  up  to  the  bedside,  she 
softly  opened  the  cover  that  hid  the  child's  face. 
Gilderman  bent  over  and  looked  at  it.     Again 
he  wondered  that  he  should  be  no  more  sensible 
to  the  fact  of  paternity.     The  joy  was  there,  but 
it  did  not  seem  to  attach  itself  to  its  object.     He 
kissed  his  wife,  and  then  sat  down  in  a  chair  be 
side  the  bed.     She  held  his  hand.     The  only 
piece  of  jewelry  he  wore  was  a  plain  gold  ring 
upon  his  little  finger.     She  had  a  habit  of  turning 
this  ring  around  and  around  upon  the  finger,  and 
she  did  so  now.     "  Where  were  you  yesterday, 
Henry?"  she  said,  after  a  while.     "Oh,  I  did  so 
long  for  you.     I  kept  calling  for  you  all  the  time. 
Afterwards  I  was  glad  you  weren't  here.     But 
where  were  you  ?     They  sent  everywhere  for  you 
—to  the  club  and  up  to  the  riding-school,  and 
they  even  telegraphed  out  to  De  Witt's." 

Gilderman  leaned  very  tenderly  over  her.  His 
heart  filled  at  the  soft  touch  of  her  hand  upon 
his.  Then  he  suddenly  determined  to  tell  her 
all. 

"I  went  out  to  Brookfield,"  he  said.  And 
then,  without  giving  himself  time  to  draw  back 
from  his  determination,  he  continued:  " The  fact 

191 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

is,  Florence,  I  didn't  want  to  trouble  you  about 
it  lately,  and  so  I  didn't  say  anything  about  it,  but 
— er — the  fact  is,  I  have  become  extremely  in 
terested  in  the  doings  of  that  Man  whom  people 
are  talking  so  much  about,  and  I  went  to  Brook- 
field  to  see  Him." 

"Oh,  Henry!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gilderman. 

"Yes.  I  dare  say  you  think  it  is  foolish.  I 
think  it  was  foolish  myself  now;  but  I  was  led 
into  it  all.  Day  before  yesterday  I  was  down  at 
Brookfield  with  the  De  Witts,  you  know.  Well, 
while  I  was  there  I  was  curious  to  see  Him.  I 
saw  Him  do  something;  I  could  not  get  away 
from  it,  and  I  kept  thinking  about  it  all  the 
time." 

"Was  that  what  made  you  so  strange  and 
absent?" 

"Yes." 

"What  was  it  you  saw?" 

Then  he  told  her  about  the  raising  of  Lazarus 
from  the  dead.  She  listened  in  silence.  After 
he  was  done  she  lay  still  and  silent  for  a  moment 
or  two.  "  Oh,  Henry,"  she  said,  "  how  perfectly 
horrid!  Isn't  it  dreadful!  I  don't  see  how  you 
could  bear  to  see  it.  I  don't  see  why  He's  allowed 
to  do  such  things.  You  don't  really  think  He 
did  bring  a  dead  man  back  to  life,  do  you?" 

Gilderman  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two. 
192 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  of  course  I  couldn't  believe  such 
a  thing  as  that.  But  I  can't  understand  it  at  all. 
There  were  things  about  it  I  can't  fathom  at 
all.  It  was  very  terrible.  I  don't  see  how  it 
could  have  been  a  trick." 

"  But  you  don't  believe  any  man  could  bring 
another  man  back  to  life  after  he  had  been  dead 
four  days,  do  you?" 

Gilderman  did  not  reply.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  reply.  "No,"  said  he,  helplessly,  "I 
don't." 

"And  did  you  see  Him  yesterday?"  she  said. 
"Yes,  I  did." 

"And  did  He  do  anything  more?" 
"No;  I  only  spoke  to  Him  and  He  spoke  to 
me." 

"What  did  He  speak  to  you  about?" 
Again  Gilderman  thought.  It  all  seemed  to 
him  now  very  foolish  and  very  remote.  He  felt 
ashamed  to  tell  her.  He  laughed.  "  I  dare  say 
you'll  think  me  awfully  ridiculous,  Florence,"  he 
said.  "  Well,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it."  And  so 
he  did. 

She  listened  to  him  without  saying  a  word  un 
til  he  ended.  Then  she  pressed  his  hand.  "Dear 
Henry,"  she  said,  smiling  faintly,  "you  are  so 
enthusiastic  and  so  impulsive.  And  then  you're 
so  given  to  thinking  about  such  things  as  this. 
13  193 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

But  you  oughtn't  to  let  yourself  be  so  led  away.'' 
And  then,  after  a  moment  of  silent  thinking,  she 
said :  "  Of  course  you  don't  believe  any  such  thing 
as  that,  do  you?  You  don't  believe  that  a  man 
ought  really  to  give  away  everything  he  has?" 

"Why,  no,"  said  Gilderman,  "I  don't  think 
that.  Indeed,  I  know  a  man  shouldn't  give  away 
everything  that  belongs  to  him."  And  then  he 
added:  "For  the  matter  of  that,  I  couldn't  give 
away  everything  I  have,  even  if  I  wanted  to  do 
so." 

Mrs.  Gilderman  lay  thinking  for  a  while.  "  You 
don't  think  anybody  saw  you  down  there,  do 
you?" 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Gilderman ;  "  at  least,  I  think 
not." 

"  It  would  be  dreadful,  you  know,  if  anybody 
knew  what  you  had  been  doing.  Just  think  how 
everybody  would  talk  and  laugh.  You  oughtn't 
to  give  way  to  your  impulses  as  you  do,  Henry. 
Some  time  you'll  get  into  trouble  by  it." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  nobody  saw  me,"  said  Gilder 
man,  and  then  he  was  uncomfortably  silent.  It 
would,  indeed,  be  very  disagreeable  to  be  guyed 
about  such  a  thing. 

"I  want  you  to  promise  something,  Henry," 
said  Mrs.  Gilderman,  suddenly. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Gilderman. 
194 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  that  you'll  never  un 
dertake  to  do  as  that  Man  told  you — to  sell  all 
that  you  have  and  give  it  to  the  poor." 

Gilderman  laughed.  "I  think  you  can  set 
your  mind  at  rest  as  to  that,  Florence,"  he  said. 

1 '  But  I  want  you  to  promise  me — think  of 
Reginald." 

Reginald,  by-the-way,  was  the  name  into  which 
the  baby  had  been  born.  It  was  the  name  of 
Gilderman' s  baby  brother,  who  had  died  almost 
in  infancy  and  whom  he  could  just  remem 
ber.  "Very  well,  my  dear,"  said  Gilderman,  "  I 
promise." 

"We  must  think  always  of  little  Reginald 
now,"  said  Mrs.  Gilderman;  "we  must  remem 
ber  that  all  we  have  is  in  trust  for  him.  I  want 
you  to  promise  me,  dear,  because  I  don't  want 
you  to  do  anything  rash.  You  are  so  impulsive 
—you  poor,  dear  boy." 

Gilderman  laughed.  "Very  well,  my  dear," 
he  said;  "I  promise  you  faithfully  that  I  won't 
try  to  sell  a  cent's  worth,  nor  give  away  a  dime 
to  the  poor  more  than  I  have  to." 

Just  then  the  nurse  came  in  to  say  that  Mrs. 
Caiaphas  was  down-stairs. 

"Go  down  and  see  her,  Henry,  won't  you?" 
said  Mrs.  Gilderman,  and  Gilderman  went,  though 
reluctantly. 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Gilderman  made  another  confidant  during  the 
day.  He  was  led  rather  inadvertently  into  doing 
so.  It  was  Stirling  West.  There  had  been  many 
visitors  in  the  morning,  and  West  had  come 
around  from  the  club  a  little  before  noon  to  con 
gratulate  his  friend.  The  two  were  sitting  to 
gether  comfortably  in  the  library  smoking  and 
looking  out  into  the  street.  The  newspapers  lay 
in  a  pile  upon  the  floor,  and  upon  the  uppermost 
sheet  was  a  big  pen-and-ink  portrait  of  the  Man 
of  whom  so  many  were  now  talking.  West 
pointed  to  it  and  made  some  comment  upon  it. 
Gilderman  looked  down  at  the  paper  through 
the  blue  mist  of  tobacco  smoke.  "It  doesn't 
look  at  all  like  Him,"  said  he. 

"  Doesn't  it?"  said  West,  and  then  he  suddenly 
looked  up  at  Gilderman.  "Eh!"  said  he,  "by 
Jove!  How  do  you  know  it  doesn't  look  like 
Him?  Did  you  ever  see  Him?" 

Gilderman  had  spoken  without  thinking.  His 
first  impulse  was  to  equivocate,  but  he  did  not. 
It  was  easier  to  tell  about  it  now  that  he  had 
already  spoken  of  it  to  his  wife.  He  made  a  sud 
den  determination  to  take  West  into  his  confi 
dence  and  see  what  he  said  about  it  all.  "  Yes," 
he  said,  "  I  have  seen  Him." 

"The  deuce  you  say!  When  did  you  see 
Him?" 

196 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"Not  long  ago.  Yesterday  and  day  before 
yesterday." 

"Where?" 

And  Gilderman  told  him. 

"The  deuce  you  did!  Well!  Well!  Well! 
You've  kept  yourself  mighty  close  about  it." 

"  I  didn't  want  to  tell  about  it,"  said  Gilderman. 

"Why  not?"  said  West. 

Gilderman  considered  for  just  one  lingering 
moment.  "Look  here,  Stirling,"  he  said,  sud 
denly,  "I'll  tell  you  about  it,  if  you'll  promise  not 
to  say  anything  about  it  to  the  other  fellows." 

"  All  right,"  said  West.     "  I'll  promise." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Gilderman,  "I  let  it  out  a 
moment  ago  without  thinking  what  I  was  saying. 
I'm  afraid  I've  been  making  rather  a  fool  of  my 
self,  Stirling.  You  know  I've  been  always  more 
or  less  interested  in  that  sort  of  thing.  (West 
nodded  his  head.)  Well,  I  went  down  to  Brook- 
field  with  the  De  Witts  to  see  their  new  house. 
While  I  was  there  I  hunted  up  this  Man,  who  was 
in  the  neighborhood  at  the  time.  I  saw  Him 
bring  that  other  man  back  to  life,"  he  added. 

"By  Jove!"  commented  West;  "the  mischief 
you  did!"  He  smoked  a  little  while  in  silence. 
"  But  the  newspapers  say  it  was  all  a  fake,"  he 
said,  presently. 

"  It  wasn't  a  fake,"  said  Gilderman.  "  I  don't 
197 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

know  what  it  was,  but  I  don't  believe  it  was  a 
fake.  It  was  a  horrible  thing.  I  can't  make 
head  nor  tail  of  it  even  yet." 

Then,  in  a  more  consecutive  way,  he  told  West 
all  about  what  he  had  seen.  West  listened  in 
silence,  and  for  the  third  time  he  commented 
"  By  Jove!"  when  Gilderman  had  ended.  He 
paused  for  a  moment  and  then  said,  "And  you 
saw  all  that,  did  you?" 

Gilderman  nodded  his  head.  He  did  not  say 
anything  about  his  having  seen  the  Man  again — 
of  having  searched  for  Him  for  that  special  pur 
pose,  and  he  suddenly  determined  that  he  would 
not  do  so.  "I  don't  want  you  to  say  anything 
about  all  this,"  he  said;  " I  feel  as  though  I  had 
been  making  an  ass  of  myself." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  West. 
"That's  putting  it  rather  strong.  You  were  al 
ways  fond  of  that  sort  of  thing,  and  everybody 
knows  that  that's  your  peculiar  lay.  I  don't  see 
what  you  like  about  it,  for  my  part,  nor  why 
you  want  to  go  hunting  around  in  the  cemeteries 
that  way." 

"Well,  I  have  had  a  dose  of  it  this  time,"  said 
Gilderman,  "and  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  tam 
per  with  that  sort  of  thing  again." 

Stirling  West  puffed  out  a  cloud  of  smoke  and 
said  nothing  further. 

198 


AN    INTERLUDE 

WHEN  a  man  conceives  within  his  own  mind 
an  image  of  God  with  the  intent  to  worship 
it,  he  does  not,  in  worshipping  it,  really  worship 
a  God  who  is  alive ;  he  does  not  worship  a  God 
who  made  him  and  all  mankind.  That  which  he 
worships  is  only  an  image  of  God  which  he  himself 
has  created. 

Let  any  man  think  of  this  fact  for  a  little  mo 
ment  and  he  will  see  that  it  is  true. 

Suppose,  for  an  instance,  that,  instead  of  an 
idea  of  God,  you  form  in  your  mind  an  idea,  say, 
of  Cromwell,  or  of  Washington,  or  of  Napoleon, 
or  of  Lincoln.  Is  it  not  perfectly  clear  that  that 
image  is  not  the  real  living  Cromwell,  Washing 
ton,  Napoleon,  Lincoln,  but  only  a  mental  pict 
ure  of  one  of  those  men?  You  may  cause  that 
image — that  mental  picture — to  seem  to  move 
and  to  speak  and  to  assume  different  aspects ;  you 
may  cause  it  apparently  to  will  and  to  act,  but  it 
is  not  the  real  hero-man  who  so  moves  and 
speaks,  wills  and  acts.  It  is  only  an  imaginary 
speech  and  action  of  an  imagined  hero. 

199 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

The  real  man  is  exactly  a  different  thing.  He 
is  of  real  flesh  and  blood,  and  his  speech  and  ac 
tion  depend  upon  his  own  volition  and  not  upon 
your  imagination.  You  may,  if  you  choose,  dec 
orate  the  image  in  your  mind  with  the  laurel 
wreath  of  hero-worship,  and  you  may  cause  the 
most  noble  and  exalted  thoughts  to  seem  to  pass 
through  the  imagined  hero's  mind.  But  it  is  not 
the  living  man  whom  you  crown,  nor  do  those 
thoughts  really  pass  through  the  brain  of  the  liv 
ing  man.  That  which  you  crown  is  only  your 
own  idea — your  own  created  image  of  the  man ; 
and  the  thoughts  which  seem  to  pass  through 
his  mind  are,  in  reality,  only  your  own  thoughts 
which  you  cause  to  pass  through  your  own  mind. 

So  it  is  exactly  with  the  worship  of  God. 

For  let  the  mind  form  ever  so  exalted  an 
image  of  God,  that  image  is,  after  all,  only  the 
creation  of  the  mind ;  it  is  only  a  dead  thing,  and 
not  the  living  fact. 

When  a  man  prays  to  such  an  image  of  God,  he 
prays  not  to  the  actual  living  Heavenly  Father 
who  created  him,  but  to  an  image  of  God  which 
he  himself  has  created. 

For  that  image  of  God  is  no  more  really  alive 
than  the  imagined  hero  is  really  a  living  man. 

And  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  an  imagined  hero,  so 
it  is  with  that  image  of  God.  For  let  that  image 

200 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

seem  to  move  and  to  act  ever  so  gigantically,  it  is, 
after  all,  only  an  idea  in  your  own  mind— a  thing 
thinner  and  more  unsubstantial  than  the  thinnest 
ether — a  thought  without  any  real  potency  or 
any  real  life. 

The  actual  and  living  God  is  exactly  and  per 
fectly  different  from  such  an  ideal  image.  He  is 
infinite,  the  idea  in  the  mind  is  definite;  He  is 
omnipotent,  the  idea  in  the  mind  is  impotent  to 
create  so  much  as  a  single  grain  of  dust ;  He  is 
omniscient,  the  idea  in  the  mind  knows  nothing 
and  thinks  nothing  excepting  such  knowledges 
and  thoughts  that  the  man's  imagination  is 
pleased  to  place  within  its  empty  skull.  He,  the 
Ancient  of  Days,  exists  forever  and  forever ;  the 
idea  in  the  mind  continues  to  live  only  so  long  as 
we  kneel  to  pray,  and  it  vanishes  instantly  we 
arise  from  our  knees  and  go  about  our  earthly 
business.  He  is  the  fountain-head  of  all  human 
intelligence,  and  has  Himself  created  the  ration 
ality  of  man ;  that  idea  of  Him — it  crumbles  and 
dissolves  away  before  a  five-minute  argument 
with  any  clever  sceptic  or  agnostic  who  chooses 
to  assault  it  with  the  hard,  round  stones  of  rea 
soning  and  of  fact.  He,  the  Heavenly  Father,  is 
the  fountain  of  all  life ;  that  idea  of  Him — what 
power  has  it  to  give  life  to  anything?  Can  it- 
such  an  ethereal  nothing,  the  creation  of  the 

201 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

mind  itself — lift  up  the  soul  into  a  resurrection  of 
life  when  the  body  of  flesh  shall  grow  cold  and 
die?  Can  it  illuminate  that  black  and  empty 
abyss  of  death  with  any  radiance  of  life?  What 
power  has  it  to  turn  aside  those  floods  of  doubt 
which,  now  and  then,  bursting  their  bonds,  sweep 
down  upon  and  overflow  the  soul,  drowning  out 
even  the  faint  little  spark  of  hope  which  we  all 
so  carefully  cherish.  That  image,  like  the  image 
of  the  man-hero,  is  dead  and  impotent  excepting 
as  the  man's  own  imagination  makes  it  living 
and  potential.  Pray  to  your  imaginary  God  in 
such  times  of  black  terror,  and  see  how  little  that 
empty  image  can  help  and  aid  you.  It  is  as 
powerless  to  save  you  from  that  flood  of  doubt 
as  the  African's  fetich  of  wood  is  impotent  to  save 
him  from  the  deluge  of  water  that  bursts  upon 
and  overflows  the  world  about  him.  When  that 
black  and  awful  torrent — the  fear  of  annihila 
tion — sweeps  down  upon  the  man,  it,  the  image, 
is  torn  away  from  his  grasp  like  a  dead  fragment 
of  wood  and  is  swept  away  and  gone,  leaving 
him  to  struggle  alone  and  unaided  in  the  over 
whelming  flood. 

And  yet  man  continues  to  worship  this  dead, 
self-created  image.  He  says  that  God  has  this 
imagined  attribute  and  that  imagined  attribute ; 
that  He  thinks  and  feels  thus  and  so,  and  does 

202 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

this  and  the  other  thing,  now  being  angry  and 
now  pleased.  But,  after  all,  these  things  belong 
only  to  the  image  in  the  mind.  What  God  really 
thinks  and  feels  and  intends  is  beyond  the  un 
derstanding  of  the  man  whom  He  has  created. 

Why  does  man  worship  an  image  instead  of  the 
reality?  It  is  easy  to  see  why  he  does  so.  He 
worships  that  image,  because  in  worshipping  it 
he  worships  himself,  it  being  a  part  of  himself. 
He  loves  that  image  because  he  himself  has  made 
it,  and  because  he  loves  all  the  things  of  his  own 
creation.  He  is  willing  to  do  the  supposed  man 
dates  of  that  self -created  fetich  (provided  they  are 
not  too  difficult  of  performance),  because  those 
mandates  spring  fundamentally  from  his  own 
imagination,  and  because  he  likes  to  do  as  he 
himself  wills  to  do. 

Just  so  we  worship,  not  the  real  Christ,  but 
an  imagined  Christ  that  is  not  alive. 

Christ  entered  into  the  city  upon  Palm  Sun 
day. 

This  is  the  way  we  love  to  imagine  that  vast 
and  tremendous  fact — the  final  entrance  of  di 
vinely  human  truth  into  the  citadel  of  life. 

We  love  to  think  of  Him  as  a  white-robed, 
majestic  figure  crowned  with  glory,  with  smooth 
hair  and  shining  face — mild,  benignant,  exalted. 
We  love  to  picture  to  ourselves  how  young  men 

203 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

and  maidens  and  little  children  ran  before  His 
coming  and  spread  their  garments  or  fragrant 
branches  of  trees  in  His  triumphal  way,  shouting 
with  multitudinous  cadence,  "  Hosannah  in  the 
highest!"  How  splendid  it  is  to  think  thus  of 
the  King  of  Glory  coming  into  His  city  of  holi 
ness.  Thus  imagined,  it  is  a  grand  and  beautiful 
picture,  and  we  wonder  how  those  scribes  and 
pharisees,  those  priests  and  Levites,  blinded  with 
their  own  wickedness,  should  not  have  seen  the 
splendor  of  it  all — should  have  denied  and  cru 
cified  One  who  came  thus  gloriously  into  their 
city. 

But  in  so  depicting  that  divine  coming  we 
bow  in  submission,  not  to  the  living  fact,  but  to 
a  picture  of  that  fact  which  we  ourselves  have 
created  in  the  imagination.  That  is  how  we 
would  have  liked  to  see  the  Messiah  of  Jehovah- 
God  come  into  His  glory.  That  is  how  we  would 
have  arranged  it  if  we  had  had  the  shaping  of 
events,  and  we  can  bow  before  that  image  easily 
enough.  But,  alas!  for  us  it  is  not  the  way  in 
which  He  really  comes.  For  God  does  not  shape 
His  events  as  we  would  have  them  shaped ;  He 
shapes  them  exactly  different. 

Read  for  yourself  the  truth  as  it  stands  writ 
ten  in  the  Divine  Word  of  Jehovah-God,  and 
then  ask  your  own  heart  whether  you  would  not 

204 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

have  rejected  Him  as  the  scribes  and  pharisees 
of  that  day  rejected  Him. 

For  in  the  actuality  of  fact  there  could  have 
been  and  there  was  no  such  glory  of  coming. 
That  which  the  intelligent,  thoughtful  men  of  that 
day  saw  was,  apparently,  a  common  man,  a  jour 
neyman  carpenter,  travel-stained,  weary,  foot 
sore,  riding  upon  a  shaggy  little  ass,  surrounded 
by  a  knot  of  rough  fishermen  and  followed  by 
a  turbulent  multitude  gathered  from  the  high 
ways  and  the  byways.  For  He  had  chosen  for 
His  associates,  not  the  good  and  the  virtuous,  the 
reputable  and  the  law-abiding  citizen;  He  had 
chosen  the  harlot,  the  publican,  the  sinner,  the 
outcast.  For  He  proclaimed  with  His  own  lips 
that  He  was  the  Saviour  of  the  sinners  and  not 
of  the  righteous.  Read  for  yourself  of  the  mul 
titude  that  followed  Him!  How  they  stripped 
the  clothes  from  their  backs  to  throw  in  His  path ; 
how  they  rent  and  tore  the  branches  from  the 
trees,  mutilating  and  dismembering  God's  cre 
ated,  shady  things,  they  knew  not  why.  That 
mob  believed  that  He  was  coming  to  overthrow 
existing  law  and  order,  so  that  the  rich  and  the 
powerful  might  be  cast  down,  and  that  they,  the 
poor  and  the  destitute,  might  be  set  up  in  their 
stead.  They  believed  (for  He  had  demonstrated 
it  to  them)  that  He  possessed  a  supernatural 

205 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

power  to  perform  miracles,  and  that  He  could 
and  would  use  that  power  to  overturn  existing 
order.  For  did  He  Himself  not  say  with  His 
own  very  lips  that  He  could  overturn  the  Tem 
ple  of  the  Lord  and  could  build  it  up  again  in 
three  days.  Such  was  the  ignorant  mob  that 
shouted  and  raved  when  He  entered  the  city 
riding  on  an  ass.  They  expected  to  see  some 
thing  supernatural  done,  and,  when  He  showed  no 
miracles,  they  presently,  in  a  day  or  two,  turned 
against  Him  like  wild  beasts  and  gave  Him  over 
to  mortal  agony  and  death.  Such  as  that  was 
the  crowd  that  really  followed  Him,  and  it  was 
not  beautiful  and  exalted. 

There  the  story  stands  written  in  the  Book  of 
Books — a  Gospel  so  divine  that  every  single  word 
—yea,  every  jot  and  tittle  written  within  it — is 
holy.  There  it  stands  terrible  and  stern  for  us 
scribes  and  pharisees  of  intelligent  respectabil 
ity  to  read.  We  cannot  accept  it  in  its  reality ; 
for  even  now  we  would  deny  it  as  we,  scribes 
and  pharisees,  priests  and  Levites,  did  of  old. 
For,  alas!  we  cannot  accept  Him  in  His  re 
ality. 

We  pharisees  of  old  preferred  to  see  their 
Messiah  come  according  to  their  idea  of  order 
and  of  righteousness,  and  when  He  did  not  come 
thus,  we  could  not  acknowledge  Him.  We  of 

206 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

to-day  build  up  a  beautiful  picture  of  Him,  but, 
in  reality,  we  would  deny  and  revile  the  living 
fact  as  we  did  before.  It  could  not  be  otherwise, 
for  God  has  made  us  as  we  are. 

You  of  to-day  ought  not  to  blame  us  because 
we  were  afraid  when  we  beheld  that  Christ  of 
publicans  and  sinners  bursting  into  our  Temple, 
and,  with  fury  in  His  voice  and  in  His  aspect, 
thrash  those  who  sat  there  upon  business  doing 
no  harm.  What  wonder  when  we  heard  Him 
say  He  could  tear  down  our  beautiful  Temple 
(the  fruit  of  so  much  reverential  labor)  and  build 
it  up  again  in  three  days — what  wonder  that  we 
should  have  been  afraid  lest  the  mob,  taking  Him 
at  His  word,  should  rend  and  tear  down  all  our 
sacred  things  with  an  insane  fury.  What  won 
der  that  Bishop  Caiaphas,  seeing  all  the  terrors 
of  violence  that  threatened  the  peace  of  the  com 
munity,  should  have  said :  "  It  is  better  that  this 
one  Man  should  perish  rather  than  all  of  us  should 
die." 

We  scribes  and  pharisees  —  we  are  the  bul 
warks  of  law  and  order  and  of  existing  religion. 
Let  Christ  come  to-day  and  we  would  crucify 
Him — if  the  law  allowed  us  to  do  so — just  as 
we  scribes  and  pharisees  did  nineteen  hundred 
years  ago.  For  is  it  not  better,  indeed,  that  one 
man  should  die  rather  than  that  all  existing  order 

207 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

should  be  overturned,  and  that  law  and  religion 
should  perish? 

Go  ye  down,  scribes  and  pharisees,  into  the 
secret,  hidden  places  of  your  city  where  the  im 
mortal  and  living  image  of  God  lies  with  its  face 
in  the  dust  of  humility.  There  alone  you  will 
find  the  living  Christ,  and  if  you,  finding  Him  in 
His  rags  and  poverty,  can  truly  take  Him  by  the 
hand  and  lift  Him  up,  then  will  He  also  raise  you 
up  into  a  life  that  shall  be  everlasting.  For  there 
is  no  other  God  of  humanity  than  that  poor  and 
lowly  image — no,  not  in  heaven  or  on  the  earth 
or  in  the  abyss  beneath  the  earth. 

For  out  of  the  dust  of  misery  and  of  sin  He 
lifts  the  lowly  up  and  makes  him  new  so  that  in 
a  life  hereafter  he  shall  shine  with  a  glory  that  is 
of  God's  creating,  and  not  of  man's. 

He  who  has  ears  to  hear  let  him  hear,  let  him 
hear ;  only  God  be  merciful  to  us  poor  hypocrites 
and  sinners,  who  deny  His  living  presence.  Hap 
py,  indeed,  is  it  for  us  that  His  mercy  is  infinite 
and  endures  forever,  else  we  would  perish  in  our 
own  pride  of  lawfulness  and  virtue,  and  be  for 
ever  lost  to  any  hope  of  salvation. 


XIV 

VERITAS    DIVINIS,  VERITAS    MUNDI 

A  DISTURBANCE  even  of  a  great  magnitude 
f\  does  not  pervade  the  whole  of  a  community. 
You  may  hear,  for  instance,  in  the  heart  of  the 
town  that  there  is  a  riot  going  on  in  the  suburbs, 
but  you  may  not  be  brought  any  more  actually 
in  touch  with  it  than  though  it  were  a  hundred 
miles  away.  Unless  you  have  the  time  to  spend, 
and  sufficient  curiosity  to  go  and  hunt  it  out,  you 
may  not  see  anything  of  it  unless  it  directly  col 
lides  with  some  of  your  daily  habits. 

So  it  was  with  this  riot.  The  public  journals 
were  heavy  that  morning  with  reports  of  gather 
ing  disturbances  in  the  upper  parts  of  the  city, 
and  there  was  a  general  feeling  of  apprehension 
of  coming  trouble.  But  when  it  actually  came, 
people  living  in  the  houses  in  the  upper  reaches 
of  the  town  saw  nothing  of  it,  even  though  it  was 
then  in  actual  progress  within  a  mile  of  their  own 
door-sills. 

It  was  not  until  three  or  four  o'clock  in  the 
14  209 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

afternoon  that  Gilderman  heard  of  the  attack 
made  upon  the  Temple.  He  had  been  called 
away  from  home  for  a  couple  of  days,  and,  being 
tired,  had  remained  in  the  house  that  Sunday 
morning  with  his  wife.  The  diamond  necklace 
had  been  brought  home  from  Brock's  the  even 
ing  before,  and  he  had  that  morning  given  it 
to  Mrs.  Gilderman  in  the  bon  -  bon  box,  as  he 
had  planned.  They  had  both  been  very  happy. 
It  was  only  on  his  way  to  the  club  that  he  met 
Ryan  and  Stirling  West  coming  to  find  him  with 
news  of  the  riot.  The  three  went  off  together 
down  to  the  rectory  of  the  Church  of  the  Ad 
vent,  where  the  Caiaphases  were  still  living  until 
the  ist  of  May  should  take  the  late  bishop's 
family  into  their  new  lodgings. 

The  attack  had  been  made  just  after  the 
closing  of  the  morning  services,  and  there  were 
all  kinds  of  exaggerated  reports  about  the  affair. 
West,  with  a  good  deal  of  hesitation,  told  Gilder 
man  that  it  was  said  that  Bishop  Caiaphas  had 
been  assaulted,  and  that  he  had  only  been  saved 
from  serious  injury  by  the  aid  of  the  police. 
"  That  is  not  so,  I  know,"  said  Gilderman.  "  The 
bishop  wasn't  at  the  Temple  at  all  to-day.  He 
told  me  only  last  night  that  he  was  to  be  out  of 
town  this  morning,  at  the  consecration  of  the 
Church  of  Beth-el." 

2IO 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  Is  that  so?"  said  West.  "  Well,  these  things 
are  always  confoundedly  exaggerated,  you  know. 
I'm  precious  glad  that  the  dear  old  boy  wasn't  in 
the  beastly  row.  I  heard  that  he  was  knocked 
down  and  beaten." 

"It's  probably  altogether  a  false  report  made 
out  of  the  whole  cloth,"  said  Gilderman. 

11  Think  so?"  said  West.  M  Well,  I'm  glad  if  it 
is  so.  Anyhow,  it  is  certain  that  there  was  an 
attack  on  the  Temple." 

The  three  young  men  met  the  bishop  just  at 
the  entrance  of  the  park.  His  brougham  drew  up 
to  the  sidewalk  when  he  caught  sight  of  Gilder 
man  and  his  friends.  He  was  very  agitated.  He 
said  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  visit  Pilate  and  to 
see  if  the  governor  would  not  take  some  steps  to 
prevent  the  recurrence  of  any  further  rioting. 
He  said  that  Mr.  Doling  and  Mr.  Latimer  (the 
latter  a  cousin  of  La  timer- Moire's)  had  been  to 
see  Herod,  but  it  seemed  to  be  somehow  very 
difficult  to  get  the  authorities  to  take  any  steps 
in  suppressing  the  disturbance.  "  I  should  be 
very  reluctant  to  think,"  said  the  bishop,  and  his 
voice  trembled  as  he  spoke — "  I  should  be  very 
reluctant  to  think  that  the  authorities  should 
take  less  interest  in  the  protection  of  church 
property  than  of  private  or  city  property." 

"  Oh,  I  think  that's  hardly  likely,"  said  Gilder- 

211 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

man.  "  I  suppose  they  don't  want  to  take  ex 
treme  measures  until  extreme  measures  are  neces 
sary." 

"I  hope  it  is  so,"  said  the  bishop.  "I  hope 
that  is  the  reason  why  they  won't  do  anything." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  go  up  to  Pilate's  with 
you?"  asked  Gilderman. 

"I  wish  you  would,  Henry,"  said  the  bishop. 
"  I  wish  you  would." 

As  the  two  bowled  away  through  the  park, 
the  bishop  gave  Gilderman  a  brief  account  of 
the  rioting  of  the  morning  and  the  attack  in 
the  Temple.  There  had,  it  appeared,  been  a 
business  meeting  held  in  the  chapel  after  the 
morning  service.  It  had  been  the  custom  for 
some  time  past  to  hold  such  meetings,  for  the 
members  were  always  sure  of  being  together  at 
that  time.  The  bishop  said  he  had  not  alto 
gether  approved  of  these  meetings,  but  it  seemed 
to  be  more  convenient  to  hold  them  then  than 
at  any  other  time,  and  there  was  more  certainty 
of  getting  the  committee  together.  There  had,  he 
said,  been  some  difficulty  for  some  time  past  in 
reaching  any  decision  as  to  the  design  for  the 
great  chancel  window,  and  Mr.  Dorman- Webster 
had  suggested  that  the  committee  having  the 
window  in  charge  should  that  morning  meet 
with  the  finance  committee,  and  that  Duncan,  of 

212 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

White  &  Wall,  should  then  submit  his  designs 
to  them  as  a  body.  There  had  been  two  designs 
made  originally,  but  the  design  selected  by  the 
committee  having  the  matter  in  charge  (the  de 
sign  that  the  late  Mrs.  Hapgood  had  so  much 
liked)  had  been  so  much  the  more  expensive  of 
the  two  that  the  finance  committee  had  not  as 
yet  been  able  to  agree  to  purchase  it.  So  Mr. 
Duncan,  of  White  &  Wall,  had  come,  bringing 
around  both  the  colored  designs.  Mr.  Parrott  had 
also  come  to  meet  the  committee.  He  was  the 
importer  who  had  brought  over  the  Roman 
tapestries  in  gold  and  silver,  and  he  had  brought 
around  colored  photographs  to  show  the  com 
mittee.  While  the  joint  committee  was  sitting  a 
Mr.  Wilder  Doncaster  had  come  in  with  the  news 
that  part  of  the  mob  was  coming  up  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  Temple.  Although,  as  was  said,  there 
had  been  all  morning  a  general  apprehension  of  a 
coming  riot,  it  had  occurred  to  no  one  that  the 
Temple  could  be  the  object  of  attack.  No  one 
had  any  thought  of  present  danger  until  the  mob 
was  actually  in  the  plaza  of  the  Temple.  The 
chapel  in  which  the  committee  sat  opened  upon 
the  side  street,  but,  by  some  mistake,  both  that 
door  and  the  door  of  the  chancel  had  been  lock 
ed,  leaving  only  the  other  door  leading  into  the 
Temple  cloisters  open.  The  committee,  although 

213 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

they  were  even  yet  not  exactly  apprehensive  of 
any  violence,  adjourned  immediately,  and  Mr. 
Wilde  went  out  to  see  if  he  could  get  some  one 
to  come  and  open  the  street  door,  so  that  they 
might  escape  the  mob,  which  was  then  in  the 
plaza.  Almost  immediately,  however,  the  crowd 
had  broken  into  the  Temple  and  the  cloisters. 
Mr.  Wilde  was  forced  back  into  the  chapel,  and  a 
moment  or  two  later  the  leader  of  the  mob  Him 
self  entered  at  the  head  of  the  riot.  He  had,  the 
bishop  said,  brought  with  Him  a  heavy  whip,  with 
which  He  began  striking  at  the  committee.  Mr. 
Reginald  Moire,  speaking  of  it  afterwards,  said 
that  he  had  seen  Dorman-Webster  struck  twice 
across  the  face.  All  the  time  of  the  attack  the 
Man  continued  repeating,  "  My  Father's  house  is 
called  a  house  of  prayer,  but  you  have  made  it  a 
den  of  thieves." 

Gilderman  listened  intently  as  the  two  bowled 
rapidly  along.  He  felt  very  sorry  for  his  father- 
in-law.  The  poor  bishop  was  so  agitated  that 
his  hands  shook  and  his  voice  trembled.  Gilder 
man  did  not  like  to  look  at  him  in  his  agitation. 
"  If  they  make  another  attack  upon  the  sacred 
building,"  said  the  bishop,  in  a  straining  voice, 
"  there  is  no  knowing  what  damage  they  may  not 
do.  Suppose  they  should  take  it  into  their  heads 
to  smash  in  those  beautiful,  painted  windows  or 

214 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

blow  up  the  chancel.  I  have  suffered  enough  in 
spirit  over  our  social  riots  of  late,  but  this  is  the 
worst  of  all.  To  think  of  the  poor,  ignorant 
creatures  attacking  the  Temple  of  God  itself;  it 
breaks  my  heart!" 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Gilderman,  comfortingly, 
"maybe  the  worst  is  passed."  But  the  bishop 
only  shook  his  head ;  there  was  no  comfort  for 
him  in  Gilderman 's  words. 

The  bishop  and  Gilderman  found  Pilate  at 
home  and  alone  in  his  library.  He  was  smoking 
a  cigar,  and  he  had  evidently  been  reading  a  book 
which  he  had  laid  face  down  upon  the  table.  It 
was  one  of  the  nether  sort  of  imported  novels. 
Gilderman,  from  where  he  stood,  could  not  read 
the  title  of  the  volume,  but  there  was  no  mis 
taking  the  yellow  paper  cover,  the  sharp  type, 
and  the  disreputable  vignette  picture  of  the  two 
laughing,  black-stockinged  women  on  the  cover. 

Pilate  tried  in  every  way  to  elude  the  subject 
the  bishop  sought  to  force  upon  him.  He  tried 
to  talk  about  the  Whitecourt  lectures,  the 
Women's  Club,  and  the  street  missions,  in  all  of 
which  he  knew  the  bishop  was  much  interested. 
But  the- bishop  would  not  talk  about  anything 
but  the  riot,  and  at  last  the  governor  had  to  sub 
mit.  "My  dear  bishop,"  he  said,  "you  don't 
understand  these  affairs.  One  must  act  delib- 

215 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

erately  and  with  caution  in  such  a  matter  as 
this." 

''Act  deliberately!  Act  with  caution!"  cried 
the  bishop.  "  In  the  mean  time,  how  are  we  citi 
zens  to  be  protected  from  such  a  mob  as  this, 
which  may  at  any  moment  take  it  into  its  head 
not  only  to  gut  the  sacred  Temple  and  to  smash 
its  windows,  but  even  to  attack  our  very 
homes?" 

"My  dear  bishop,"  the  governor  began  again, 
"there  is  not,  in  my  estimation,  the  slightest 
danger  of  any  attack  upon  the  private  or  the 
public  property  of  this  community." 

"But,  sir,"  said  the  bishop,  "don't  you  know 
that  there  has  already  been  an  attack  made  upon 
the  Temple  and  upon  the  persons  of  certain  citi 
zens  gathered  there?" 

"  I  know,"  said  Pilate,  "but  I  think  that  comes 
within  the  province  of  the  city  authorities  rather 
than  under  my  authority.  I  do  not  feel  the  riot 
to  be  as  yet  of  sufficient  magnitude  to  call  out 
the  troops  for  active  aid  in  suppressing  it." 

"But  you  speak  about  the  mayor.  Mr.  Dor- 
man- Webster  went  to  see  the  mayor,  and  he  ex 
presses  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  mayor  is  not  to 
be  counted  upon  for  any  assistance." 

The  governor  almost  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"And  don't  you  mean  to  do  anything  at  all, 
216 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

then?"  cried  the  bishop.  "Are  not  the  laws 
made  to  protect  us  and  our  property?" 

"The  laws?  Yes,  if  you  please.  They  are 
made  to  protect  you,  but  I  am  not  made  to  pro 
tect  you — that  is,  you  alone.  The  office  of  gov 
ernor  is  made  that  the  executive  may  protect  not 
only  you,  but  all  men.  Do  you  think  I  would  be 
protecting  these  poor,  misguided  people  if  I  called 
out  the  militia  to  shoot  them  down  in  the  streets  ? 
My  dear  bishop,  I  cannot  undertake  to  do  that 
until  there  is  absolutely  nothing  else  to  be  done. 
Human  life  is  too  valuable  for  that." 

The  bishop  was  staggered  for  a  moment.  "  I 
don't  know,"  he  said,  "that  I  want  that  the 
troops  should  actually  fire  upon  the  mob." 

"Then  what  do  you  want?"  said  the  governor. 

' '  I  would  suggest  that  the  presence  of  the 
troops  might  overawe  them." 

Governor  Pilate  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 
"  That  can  no  longer  be  done,"  he  said.  "  It  has 
been  tried,  but  it  has  never  succeeded.  It  must 
be  fire  and  blood  or  nothing.  No,  my  dear  bish 
op,"  he  continued,  "you  people  who  are  all  call 
ing  so  loudly  upon  me  through  the  press  and  the 
post" — here  he  laid  his  hand  upon  a  great  packet 
of  letters  upon  the  desk — ' '  you  who  are  so  calling 
upon  me  to  take  the  law  into  my  own  hands  and 
to  execute  it  to  your  liking  for  the  instant  sup- 

217 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

pression  of  the  rioting — you  do  not  take  into  con 
sideration  the  responsibility  of  my  position.  You 
see  but  one  side  of  the  question ;  I  see  both  sides. 
I  am  not  only  governor  of  a  part  of  the  com 
munity  such  as  yourself ;  I  am  also  governor  of 
the  humbler  classes  of  the  commonwealth  as  well. 
I  must  consider  them  equally  with  you  and  your 
kind.  I  have  no  right  to  side  myself  with  you 
and  strike  against  them.  I  must  stand  between 
you  and  keep  you  apart  from  one  another.  I 
may  sympathize  with  you — yes;  but  I  cannot 
sympathize  so  far  as  to  do  violence  against  these 
poor,  misguided  people.  I  must  hold  my  hand 
until  nothing  else  remains  to  be  done  than  to 
kill  them." 

"I  don't  think  I  understand  your  position," 
said  Gilderman,  striking  in.  "It  seems  to  me 
that  there  is  a  right  and  a  wrong,  and  that  it  is 
right  to  do  right  and  wrong  to  do  wrong.  It 
does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  right  that  the  violent 
and  the  vicious  should  be  allowed  to  work  their 
wills  upon  the  peaceful  and  the  innocent." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  can't  understand  my 
position,"  said  the  governor,  who  had  turned  to 
Glderman  when  he  began  speaking.  "  It  is  very 
plain  to  me,  Mr.  Gilderman.  Suppose  I  should 
act  hastily  in  this  matter  and  make  a  mistake. 
All  the  blame  of  that  mistake  would  fall  upon  me 

218 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

and  upon  no  one  else.  It  does  not  require  any 
courage  for  you  and  those  other  gentlemen  and 
ladies  who  write  to  me,  to  urge  that  I  should  at 
once  act,  and  act  violently,  in  this  matter.  To 
so  advise  does  not  take  any  courage ;  but  it  does 
take  a  great  deal  of  courage  for  me  to  do  such  a 
thing  upon  my  own  responsibility.  Consider  the 
blame  that  would  fall  upon  me  if  I  should  err  in 
such  a  matter  as  this.  I  don't  think  I  care  over 
much  for  the  opinion  of  other  men,  but  even  I 
do  not  care  to  take  unnecessary  blame." 

"But  surely  no  blame  can  attach  to  you  for 
merely  putting  a  stop  to  rioting." 

"  Perhaps  no.     Perhaps  yes." 

"  But,"  said  the  bishop,  "even  if  blame  is  at 
tached  to  you,  you  will  have  done  your  duty." 

Again  the  governor  smiled  faintly.  "That, 
my  dear  bishop,"  he  said,  "is  a  higher  plane  of 
ethics  than  I  am  able  to  attain.  I  would  rather 
be  at  ease  in  my  mind  than  in  my  conscience." 
Then  he  began  fingering  among  his  papers,  and 
the  bishop  saw  he  wanted  him  to  go.  Neverthe 
less,  Bishop  Caiaphas  would  not  give  up  entirely. 

"  You  have  no  objection  to  my  taking  the  mat 
ter  in  my  own  hands?"  he  said. 

"  None  whatever,"  said  Pilate. 

"Then  I  shall  go  and  consult  my  lawyer.  I 
came  to  you,  in  the  first  instance,  because  it  did 

219 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

not  seem  courteous  to  act  without  consulting  you 
before  taking  any  other  steps.  If  I  can  have 
this  man  arrested  upon  my  own  responsibility  I 
shall  do  so." 

"My  dear  bishop,"  said  the  governor,  rising 
as  the  bishop  arose,  ' '  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say 
so,  the  very  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  and 
consult  with  your  lawyer.  He  will  tell  you  just 
what  to  do.  The  law  is  open  to  you.  If  you 
choose  to  put  it  in  operation  against  this  Man, 
and  if  you  can  arrest  Him  and  convict  Him,  I 
promise  you  I  will  not  stretch  out  my  hand 
to  prevent  His  execution.  Only,  in  doing 
what  you  do,  you  act  upon  your  own  responsi 
bility." 

Then  the  bishop  and  Gilderman  took  their 
leave  and  the  governor  sat  down,  took  up  his 
book,  and  resumed  his  reading  almost  with  a 
grunt  of  satisfaction. 

As  Bishop  Caiaphas  was  driven  rapidly  away 
from  the  governor's  house  he  was  very  angry. 
He  knew  that  it  was  very  unbecoming  in  him, 
as  a  priest,  to  be  so  angry,  but  he  did  not  care. 
Presently  he  burst  out:  "The  idea  of  that  man 
sitting  there  alone,  debauching  his  own  mind 
with  a  low  and  obscene  novel,  while  this  Man 
and  His  mob  are  allowed  to  overturn  the  re 
ligion  of  the  world!"  If  Bishop  Caiaphas  had 

220 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

been  a  layman  he  would  perhaps  have  added, 
"Damn  him!" 

Gilderman  did  not  say  anything,  but  his  heart 
went  out  in  sympathy  to  his  father-in-law. 

Presently  the  bishop  burst  out  again,  "I'll  go 
down  and  see  Inkerman  this  evening!"  (Mr. 
Judah  Inkerman  was  his  lawyer.) 

"I  would,  sir,  if  I  were  in  your  place,"  said 
Gilderman.  "I  don't  doubt  that  he'll  tell  you 
the  very  best  thing  to  do.  He's  got  lots  of  influ 
ence  with  Police  Commissioner  Robinson,  too. 
And  look  here,  sir,"  the  young  man  added,  "tell 
Inkerman  not  to  spare  any  expense  and  to  send 
his  bill  to  me."  He  wanted  to  do  something  to 
comfort  the  bishop,  and  this  was  all  that  oc 
curred  to  him. 

"Thank  you,  Henry,"  said  Bishop  Caiaphas, 
gratefully.  "  No  man  ever  had  a  better  son  than 
you." 

Gilderman  slipped  his  hand  under  his  father-in- 
law's  arm  and  pressed  it. 

There  was  no  further  demonstration  of  the  riot 
ers  against  the  Temple.  The  next  day  the  mob 
gathered  again,  but  this  time  it  did  not  move 
towards  that  holy  edifice,  but  drifted  down-town 
towards  the  law-courts.  As  the  morning  wore 
along  it  began  to  be  apprehended  that  an  at- 

221 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

tack  might  be  made  upon  the  public  buildings 
or  the  sub-treasury  or  some  of  the  larger  bank 
ing-houses,  but  no  such  attack  was  made. 

Gilderman  had  an  appointment  at  the  office 
that  morning.  He  did  not  go  down -town  till 
about  noon,  and  then  he  found  the  blockade  of 
cars  extended  far  up  into  the  town.  At  last  his 
coupe  could  go  no  farther.  The  footman  came 
and  opened  the  door  and  told  Gilderman  that  it 
was  impossible  to  go  any  farther,  and  that  a 
policeman  had  said  that  the  streets  were  packed 
full  of  people.  As  the  footman  stood  speaking 
to  Gilderman,  Downingwood  Lawton  came  up  to 
the  open  door  of  the  coupe.  "  Hello,  Gildy !"  he 
said,  "is  that  you?  What  are  you  doing  down 
here?  Come  down  to  see  the  row?" 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Gilderman,  laughing.  And 
then  he  explained.  "  I  promised  to  be  down  at 
the  office  this  morning  and  sign  some  papers. 
There  seems  to  be  pretty  poor  show  of  getting 
there,  according  to  what  my  man  says." 

"Well,  I  should  rather  say  so,  unless  you  choose 
to  foot  it;  and  even  then  it's  only  a  chance  of 
getting  through.  By  George !  I  never  saw  such 
a  jam  in  my  life." 

"  Were  you  down  there,  then?"  said  Gilderman. 

"Yes;  Stirling  and  I  went  over  to  see  Belle 
and  Janette  De  Haven  off." 

222 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  They  went  this  morning,  did  they?" 

u  Yes,  and  we  went  down  to  see  them  off — just 
for  a  lark,  you  know.  While  I  was  down-town  I 
thought  I'd  go  over  to  the  office  and  strike  the 
governor  for  a  check,  and  so  I  got  right  into  the 
thick  of  it  all.  I  left  Stirling  down  there  some 
where." 

"  What  did  Stirling  stay  down  there  for?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Wants  to  see  the  row  out,  I 
guess." 

"  What  are  they  doing  down  there  now?"  asked 
Gilderman. 

"  Nothing  that  I  can  see.  The  last  I  saw 
was  the  Man  himself  standing  at  the  top  of  the 
court-house  steps  talking  to  a  lot  of  lawyers. 
Where  are  you  going  now,  Gildy?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Gilderman.  "  I  don't 
suppose  it's  any  use  my  trying  to  get  down  to 
the  office." 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  If  you're  going 
back  up-town,  I'll  thank  you  for  a  lift.  There 
isn't  a  cab  to  be  had  anywhere,  or  if  you  do 
find  one  it  can't  budge  out  of  the  block.' ' 

"Jump  in,  then,"  said  Gilderman,  "and  I'll 
take  you  up  with  me." 

Just  at  that  time  the  Son  of  Man,  weary, 
dusty,  wayworn,  was  talking  with  the  lawyers, 
giving  utterance  to  those  three  great  parables— 

223 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

the  last  of  all  He  gave  to  the  world.  The  first 
parable — the  man  who  had  two  sons,  the  one  of 
whom  said,  I  will  not  go  work  in  the  vineyard, 
and  yet  went ;  the  other  of  whom  said,  I  will  go, 
and  went  not.  The  second  parable — the  master 
of  the  vineyard  who  sent  his  servant  to  the 
husbandmen,  who  stoned  him;  then  his  son  to 
the  same  husbandmen,  who  killed  him  outright. 
The  third  parable— that  of  how  the  king  made  a 
marriage  feast  for  his  son  and  yet  had  to  send 
into  the  highways  and  byways  for  guests.  Of 
how  one  guest  came  without  a  wedding  gar 
ment,  and,  as  a  punishment,  therefore,  was  cast 
into  outer  darkness  where  there  was  wailing  and 
gnashing  of  teeth.  The  people  listened  and  did 
not  understand,  and  Gilderman  drove  away  from 
Divine  Truth  in  his  coupe. 

"  By  George!"  said  Lawton,  as  the  cab  worked 
its  way  with  difficulty  out  of  the  press  of  vehicles, 
"isn't  this  a  lovely  state  of  affairs?  I  came  down 
from  the  country  yesterday  afternoon.  I  never 
saw  such  a  sight  in  my  life.  Half  the  trees  in  the 
park  are  stripped  as  bare  as  poles.  We  went  by 
one  place  where  they'd  been  spreading  branches 
in  the  street,  and  everything  all  a-clutter.  It's 
a  beastly  shame,  I  say,  that  Pilate  and  Herod 
don't  do  something  to  stop  it  all." 

As  the  coupe  drove  past  the  armory  they  saw 
224 


REJECTED    OF>    MEN 

that  the  authorities  were  at  last  evidently  taking 
some  steps  to  prevent  any  fatal  culmination  of 
the  disturbance.  The  great  armory  doors  stood 
wide  open,  and  a  crowd  of  people  were  gathered 
about.  A  couple  of  soldiers  stood  on  guard,  erect, 
motionless,  endeavoring  to  appear  oblivious  to 
the  interest  of  the  clustered  group  of  faces  look 
ing  at  them. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that,  anyhow,"  said  Gilder- 
man,  pointing  with  his  cigarette  towards  the 
armory. 

IS 


XV 


JUDAS 

THE  burden  of  prosecution  having  devolved 
upon  the  Ecclesiastical  Court,  a  decision  was 
not  long  in  being  reached.  Again  it  was  the  uni 
versally  voiced  opinion  that  it  was  better  that 
one  man  should  die  rather  than  that  a  whole 
nation  should  perish.  It  now  remained  only  to 
arrest  the  creator  of  this  divine  disturbance  of 
mundane  peace. 

That  same  afternoon  Mr.  Inkerman,  the  law 
yer,  called  on  Bishop  Caiaphas  to  say  that  a  fol 
lower  of  the  Man  had  been  found  who  would  be 
willing,  he,  Inkerman,  believed,  to  betray  his 
Master  to  the  authorities.  It  would,  he  opined, 
be  out  of  the  question  to  attempt  an  arrest  in 
the  midst  of  the  turbulent  mob  that  surrounded 
Him;  such  an  attempt  would  be  almost  certain 
to  precipitate  a  riot.  But  if  this  fellow  could  be 
persuaded  or  bought  to  disclose  where  his  Master 
slept  at  night,  the  arrest  could  be  made  without 
exciting  any  disturbance. 

226 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"How  did  you  find  your  man?"  asked  the 
bishop. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  find  him  myself,"  said  Mr.  Inker- 
man.  "  Inspector  Dolan  found  him.  Dolan  says 
he  will  bring  him  up  here  at  five  o'clock,  if  that 
will  suit  you." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  bishop;  "that  will  suit 
me  exactly." 

At  the  appointed  time  there  were  four  or  five 
of  the  more  prominent  ecclesiastics  present  in  the 
bishop's  library — among  the  others,  Dr.  Dayton 
and  Dr.  Ives.  A  little  after  five  Mr.  Inkerman 
came  quietly  into  the  room  accompanied  by 
Gilderman. 

"The  inspector  hasn't  come  yet?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  the  bishop;  "not  yet." 

"They've  just  called  me  up  from  the  station- 
house,  telling  me  that  he  was  on  the  way,"  said 
the  lawyer. 

"  How  much  do  you  suppose  this  man  will  want 
for  his  services?"  asked  the  bishop,  after  a  mo 
ment  or  two  of  pause. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  Thank 
you" — and  he  took  a  cigar  from  the  box  the 
man-servant  offered  him — "I  would  not  give 
him  very  much,  though.  He's  only  a  poor  devil, 
and  a  little  money  will  go  a  great  way  with  him. 
Offer  him  ten  dollars." 

227 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"Ten  dollars!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Ives.  " Rogues 
must  be  cheap  in  these  times,  sir!"  and  there 
was  a  ripple  of  amusement. 

"  Some  rogues  are  and  some  are  not,"  said  Mr. 
Inkerman,  when  the  laugh  had  subsided.  "I 
dare  say  it  would  take  a  pot  of  money  to  buy  a 
Herod,  and  still  more  to  buy  a  Pilate,"  and  then 
again  there  was  a  ripple  of  laughter. 

At  that  moment  the  servant  came  in  bringing 
a  printed  card  upon  the  salver.  The  card  had  a 
semibusiness-like,  semisocial  look.  He  handed 
it  to  the  bishop,  who  glanced  at  it.  "Oh,"  he 
said,  "here  he  is.  Show  him  up  directly." 

He  handed  the  card  to  Dr.  Dayton,  who  ran 
his  eye  over  it.  "  It's  Inspector  Dolan,"  he  said 
to  the  others. 

In  a  little  while  the  servant  returned,  holding 
open  the  door  and  ushering  in  the  two  men.  The 
light  shone  upon  the  inspector's  uniform,  gleam 
ing  upon  the  badge  on  his  breast.  He  came  di 
rectly  into  the  room  followed  by  a  rather  small, 
rather  thin  man,  with  a  lean  face  and  reddish  hair 
and  beard,  and  a  long,  lean  neck.  The  man  seem 
ed  abashed  and  ill  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  the 
clergymen.  He  stood  in  the  farther  part  of  the 
room,  not  far  from  the  door.  He  held  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  shifting  it  and  turning  it  around  and 
around.  He  was  ill  clad  and  rough  looking,  but 

228 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

his  face  was  rather  cunning  than  stupid.  It  was 
not  altogether  a  bad  face.  His  eyes  wandered 
about  the  room,  resting  an  instant  upon  each  un 
usual  object.  There  was  a  large  photogravure 
in  colors  of  Renault's  "Execution  in  Tangier." 
That  caught  his  eye,  and  his  gaze  lingered  upon 
it  for  a  moment — the  severed  head,  the  prone 
corpse  lying  upon  the  steps,  the  huge  figure  of  the 
executioner  looming  above  it,  and  the  splashes 
of  blood  trickling  over  the  white  marble.  He 
looked  at  the  picture  for  an  instant,  and  then 
he  looked  at  the  bishop ;  then  he  looked  back  at 
the  picture  again. 

Bishop  Caiaphas  was  gazing  steadily  at  him. 
"  Well,  my  man,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  Inspector  Do- 
Ian  tells  me  that  you  are  willing  to  help  us  arrest 
this  Man."  The  man's  gaze  dropped  from  the 
picture  to  the  bishop's  face.  He  did  not  reply, 
but  he  began  again  turning  his  hat  around  and 
around  in  his  hands.  "  What  do  you  know  about 
Him?"  the  bishop  continued. 

"  Why,"  said  the  man,  "  I  know  Him — that  is, 
I've  been  with  Him,  off  and  on — that  is,  near  for 
a  year,  I  reckon." 

"What  makes  you  willing  to  betray  Him?" 
asked  the  bishop,  curiously.  "Have  you  any 
cause  of  enmity  against  Him?" 

The  man  looked  at  him  with  a  half-bewildered 
229 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

look,  as  though  not  exactly  understanding  the 
purport  of  the  question.  Then  a  secondary  look 
of  intelligence  came  into  his  face.  "Oh,"  he 
said,  "do  you  mean  have  I  anything  agin  Him? 
Why,  no;  so  far  as  that  goes  I  haven't  anything 
agin  Him,  nor  He  hasn't  done  anything  agin  me. 
There  was  a  lot  of  us  together — a  kind  of  com 
pany,  you  know — and  I  always  carried  the  money 
for  the  rest.  Sometimes  we  had  a  little  money, 
and  then  sometimes  we  hadn't.  I  was  with  Him 
ever  since  last  April  a  year  ago  up  to  last  fall, 
when  my  father  was  took  sick;  and  there  ain't 
nothing  in  it.  He  won't  take  money  Hisself  for 
curing  folks,  and  He  wouldn't  let  any  of  us  take 
money." 

' '  And  are  you  willing  to  show  us  where  we  may 
find  Him?"  asked  the  bishop. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  the  other;  "so  far  as  that 
goes,  I'm  willing  to  do  that  if  I'm  paid  for  it.  I 
haven't  got  nothing  agin  Him,  but  I  don't  owe 
Him  nothing,  neither." 

Bishop  Caiaphas  was  looking  at  the  man,  try 
ing  to  get  into  the  workings  of  his  mind.  ' '  Of 
course,"  he  said,  "we  are  willing  to  pay  you  for 
your  trouble.  We  don't  ask  you  to  help  us  for 
nothing." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Iscariot,  "  I  know  that.  I  just 
mean  to  speak  plain,  sir,  when  I  say  I've  got  to  be 

230 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

paid  for  doing  it.  You  see,  He  don't  pay  me 
nothing,  and  I  ain't  beholden  to  Him  for  noth 
ing,  but,  all  the  same,  I  ain't  got  no  spite  agin 
Him." 

4 'How  much  do  you  expect  us  to  pay  you?" 
said  the  bishop. 

11 1  don't  know,"  said  the  man.  "  How  much 
do  you  think  it  would  be  worth  to  you?  You 
see,  I've  got  to  keep  track  of  Him  all  the  time, 
and  then  I've  got  to  let  you  know  where  He's 
going  to  be,  and  where  you  can  come  up  with 
Him.  It  may  be  a  matter  of  four  or  five  days." 

"This  gentleman,"  said  the  bishop,  indicating 
Mr.  Inkerman,  "  seems  to  think  that  ten  dollars 
would  be  about  right." 

The  man  looked  down  into  his  hat  and  began 
again  turning  it  around  and  around  in  his  hands. 
"  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  do  it  for  that,"  he 
said.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  do  it  at  all, 
but  this  gentleman  here" — indicating  Inspector 
Dolan — "he  comes  to  me  and  he  says  he  heard  I 
know  where  He's  to  be  found,  and  that  I  wasn't 
particular  about  keeping  with  Him  any  longer." 

"  And  how  much,  then,  do  you  think  would  be 
worth  while?"  said  the  bishop. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  man,  "  I  don't  just  know 
about  that.  I  wouldn't  mind  doing  it  if  you 
gave  me  thirty  dollars." 

231 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

" Thirty  dollars!"  said  Mr.  Inkerman;  but 
Bishop  Caiaphas  held  up  his  hand  and  the  law 
yer  was  silent. 

"  I'll  give  you  thirty  dollars,  my  man,"  he  said, 
"  the  day  that  your  Master  is  apprehended." 

"Thankee,  sir,"  said  the  man.  Still  he  stood 
for  a  while  irresolutely. 

"Well,"  said  the  bishop,  "what  is  it?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "  if  you'll  excuse  me 
so  far  as  to  say — that  is,  I  mean  I  didn't  take 
what  this  here  gentleman" — indicating  Inspector 
Dolan  again — "said  just  to  mean  that  I  was  to 
help  arrest  Him.  He  asked  me  if  I  knew  where 
He  was  at  night.  I  told  him  yes.  He  says  that 
if  I'd  show  where  He  was  there  was  money  in  it 
for  me.  I  said  I  was  willing  to  show  him  or  any 
man  where  He  was.  But  I  didn't  look  to  have 
any  hand  in  arresting  Him,  though." 

"But,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  bishop,  "I 
can't  pay  you  the  money  unless  you  do  your 
part.  Just  as  soon  as  He  is  arrested,  then  you 
shall  have  your  money.  Isn't  that  satisfactory 
to  you?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  other,  doubt 
fully.  But  he  still  stood,  turning  his  hat  about 
in  his  hands. 

"Well,"  said  the  bishop,  "is  there  anything 
else?" 

232 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"  Only,  if  I  might  make  so  bold,  sir,  who's  to 
pay  me,  sir?" 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?"  said  the  bishop.  "  Well, 
I'll  put  the  money  in  the  hands  of  Inspector 
Dolan  here,  and  as  soon  as  the  arrest  is  made 
he'll  see  that  you  are  paid.  Will  that  be  satis 
factory  to  you,  inspector?"  and  the  bishop  turn 
ed  to  the  police  officer. 

" Oh  yes;  it  '11  suit  me  well  enough,"  said  the 
inspector. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  bishop,  "we'll  arrange  it 
that  way.  That  is  all  we  need  of  you  now.  You 
may  go.  Mr.  Dolan  will  settle  everything  with 
you  after  the  arrest  is  duly  made." 

After  the  clergymen  had  gone,  Gilderman  and 
the  lawyer  lingered  for  a  while.  "  How  do  you 
suppose,"  said  Gilderman,  "that  that  man 
could  bring  himself  to  do  such  a  thing  as 
that?  How  do  you  suppose  he  thinks  and 
feels?" 

"Why,  bless  your  soul,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  said 
the  lawyer,  "we  can't  possibly  enter  into  the 
mind  of  a  man  like  that  to  understand  why  he 
does  a  certain  thing.  Those  people  neither  think 
nor  feel  as  a  man  in  our  position  thinks  and  feels. 
They  don't  have  the  same  sort  of  logical  or  moral 
ballast  to  keep  them  steady.  Any  puff  of  preju 
dice  or  self-interest  is  enough  to  swerve  them 

233 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

aside  from  their  course  to  some  altogether  differ 
ent  objective  point." 

"I  think  you  are  right,  sir,"  said  the  bishop, 
almost  with  a  sigh — "  I  am  afraid  you  are  right. 
One  of  the  most  difficult  things  with  which  I  have 
to  deal  is  the  inability  a  man  like  myself  has 
to  comprehend  or  to  come  within  touch  of  the 
mental  operation  of  those  poor  people.  Only 
this  morning,  for  instance,  I  had  to  do  with  a 
really  deserving  case  of  charity — a  man  who  had 
had  his  arm  amputated  and  who  had  a  wife — an 
intelligent  woman — and  three  or  four  small  chil 
dren.  He  is  just  back  from  the  hospital  and  in 
real  destitution,  and  I  went  to  see  him,  filled  with 
sympathy.  But  before  I  had  talked  with  him 
five  minutes  I  was  perfectly  convinced  that  his 
one  and  only  aim  was  to  get  me  to  give  him  just 
as  much  money  as  he  could  squeeze  from  me.  He 
asked  me  for  twelve  dollars  a  week,  and  when 
I  told  him  I  could  not  afford  to  give  him  but 
eight  he  was  perfectly  satisfied.  A  man  in  our 
position  of  life  would  express  gratitude ;  he  ex 
pressed  little  or  none.  He  accepted  what  was 
done  for  him  almost  as  a  matter  of  course.  It  is 
terrible  to  think  that  you  can't  reach  these  poor 
people  with  sympathy  or  brotherly  love  and  hope 
to  meet  with  a  return  of  affection  —  to  be  con 
scious  that  their  chief  object,  when  you  wish  to 

234 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

help  them,  is  to  get  just  as  much  money  out  of 
you  as  they  can.  I  am  always  conscious  that 
they  feel  that  I  am  rich  and  have  got  plenty  of 
money  to  spare,  and  that  it  is  their  right  to  get 
all  that  they  can  from  me." 

Thus  spoke  the  bishop  in  his  wisdom;  and 
what  he  said  was  true.  A  gulf,  not  wide  but 
as  profound  as  infinity,  separates  the  rich  man 
from  the  poor  man,  and  there  is  no  earthly  means 
of  crossing  it. 


XVI 

A   GLIMPSE   OF   AGONY 

TT  was  unfortunate  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dorman- 
1  Webster's  grand  affair,  given  in  celebration 
of  their  silver  wedding,  should  have  happened 
just  at  this  time.  One  of  the  public  journals, 
commenting  upon  it,  said  that  giving  such  an 
entertainment  at  such  a  time  was  like  playing 
with  a  spark  of  fire  over  a  barrel  of  gunpowder. 
It  might  not  bring  about  an  explosion,  but  then 
an  explosion  might  follow — an  explosion  whose 
radius  might  destroy  things  of  much  more  value 
than  even  Mr.  Dorman- Webster's  palace  of  mar 
ble  and  brownstone. 

There  had  been  almost  no  rioting  at  night. 
All  the  disturbance  was  during  the  day ;  but  dis 
jointed  groups — sometimes  even  crowds — would 
pass  occasionally  along  the  street  after  night 
fall  with  more  or  less  tumult  of  noise  and  loud 
talking.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  discussion 
as  to  whether  it  was  safe  for  ladies  to  be  out  at 
night  at  such  a  time,  but,  in  spite  of  the  possi- 

236 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

ble  danger,  nearly  every  one  who  had  been  asked 
to  the  Dorman-Websters'  went.  It  was,  indeed, 
a  magnificent  affair,  and,  in  spite  of  the  excite 
ment  of  the  riots,  a  great  deal  of  space  was  given 
to  it  in  the  newspapers.  It  was  said  that  Madame 
Antonini  had  been  paid  a  thousand  dollars  to 
come  on  from  the  West,  where  she  was  then  sing 
ing,  to  appear  in  the  two  numbers  of  the  opening 
music  ale.  She  sang  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
harpsichord  that  had  belonged  to  a  foreign  queen, 
and  which  Dorman- Webster  had,  for  that  espe 
cial  purpose,  added  to  his  famous  collection  of 
historical  musical  instruments  of  all  ages.  One 
of  the  features  of  the  affair  was  the  massive  deco 
ration  of  the  stair-rails  from  the  ground  to  the 
third  floor  with  red-and-white  rose-buds  that 
were  said  by  the  newspapers  to  have  cost  two 
dollars  each. 

Nearly  everybody  of  the  truly  Roman  caste 
was  there.  Gilderman  went,  but  he  had  not  been 
feeling  well,  and  so  had  only  stayed  out  the  musi- 
cale,  coming  away  before  the  supper,  for  the  sake 
of  a  few  minutes'  midnight  chat  with  his  wife, 
who  had  promised,  with  the  nurse's  consent,  to  be 
sitting  up  when  he  returned.  She  was  much  in 
terested  in  all  that  he  had  to  tell  her,  but  she  ap 
peared  tired,  and  he  did  not  stay  very  long.  As  it 
was  still  early  he  went  around  to  the  club.  The 

237 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

Dorman- Webster  entertainment  had  nearly  de 
pleted  the  "Romans,"  and  Gilderman  sauntered 
about  with  that  lonely  feeling  that  one  always 
has  in  being  at  some  place  when  one  knows  that 
one's  friends  are  somewhere  else.  He  had  found 
Pilate  sitting  in  the  reading-room  with  a  litter  of 
papers  spread  around  him. 

•  Pilate  was  not  always  asked  to  such  enter 
tainments  as  that  of  the  Dorman- Websters' .  He 
used  to  smile  about  it  sometimes  with  his  sphinx- 
like  smile,  but  perhaps  he  would  have  been  more 
than  human  had  he  not  felt  the  fact  of  being  left 
out  of  such  lists  of  invitations.  He  looked  up  as 
Gilderman  came  in.  "  Why,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  he 
said,  "  how  is  it  you're  not  at  the  silver  wedding?" 

" I  was  there,"  said  Gilderman,  "but  I  did  not 
stay." 

"Tired  of  it?" 

"Oh  no;  not  at  all." 

Then  Pilate  began  again:  "  By-the-way,  Mr. 
Gilderman,  I  was  very  sorry  that  I  did  not  feel 
justified  in  calling  out  the  troops  last  Sunday,  as 
the  bishop  wanted  me  to  do.  I  hope  he  under 
stood  my  position." 

"I  think  he  did  understand  your  position," 
said  Gilderman,  almost  dryly.  Pilate  looked  at 
him  for  a  little  while  with  his  keen,  steady  eyes. 
Perhaps  he  did  not  know  just  what  construction 

238 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

to  place  on  Gilderman's  phrase.  Gilderman  won 
dered  whether  he  looked  guilty  of  the  double 
meaning  he  had  intended.  ''Wouldn't  you  like 
to  play  a  game  of  billiards?"  he  said. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Pilate.  And  then  to  the  club 
servant,  as  he  arose  from  where  he  sat:  "Tell 
Abraham  to  fetch  the  soda-and-whiskey  up  to 
the  billiard-room  when  he  brings  it.  You'll  have 
to  allow  me  ten  or  a  dozen  points,  Mr.  Gilder 
man,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  play  billiards  with  you 
young  fellows."  And  then  they  went  off  to 
gether  to  the  billiard-room. 

Some  little  time  after  midnight  the  men  began 
dropping  in  from  the  Dorman-Websters'  until 
there  was  quite  a  number  present.  About  one 
o'clock  a  party  of  six  or  eight  began  playing 
poker,  and  in  a  little  while  afterwards  Gilder 
man  joined  the  game. 

They  had  been  playing  maybe  not  over  a  quar 
ter  of  an  hour  when  those  hands  were  dealt  to 
Gilderman  and  Latimer-Moire  which  were  after 
wards  so  much  talked  about. 

Ryan  was  dealing  at  the  time,  and  Gilderman 
drew  three  cards  to  a  pair  of  queens.  The  first 
card  he  turned  up  was  a  third  queen,  the  next 
was  an  ace.  He  wondered  passively  how  it 
would  feel  to  draw  a  fourth  queen,  and  then  he 
turned  up  the  card.  It  was  the  queen  of  clubs. 
239 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

He  felt  struck  almost  as  with  a  physical  shock. 
He  closed  his  cards  slowly  and  laid  them  face 
down  upon  the  table,  and  he  was  conscious  as 
he  did  so  that  he  had  been  able  to  infuse  a  per 
fect  and  complete  expression  of  indifference  into 
his  face  and  action.  Oh,  if  it  were  only  possible 
now  for  some  one  to  hold  a  hand  to  play  against 
him! 

Then  the  play  began,  and  he  saw  almost  im 
mediately  that  even  this  desire  was  to  be  grati 
fied.  One  by  one  the  other  men  dropped  out  of 
the  game  until  only  Latimer-Moire  and  himself 
remained.  The  betting  went  steadily  on  and  on, 
each  time  being  to  the  full  limit.  The  stakes 
doubled  and  quadrupled  again  and  again.  It 
passed  through  Gilderman's  mind,  what  if  his  op 
ponent  should,  after  all,  have  four  kings  ?  Such  a 
chance  was  almost  impossible,  but  the  thought 
of  it  caused  him  a  pang  as  it  went  through  his 
mind.  The  rumor  of  the  betting  new  through 
the  club,  and  quite  a  little  crowd  presently  gath 
ered  around  the  table.  Gilderman  kept  his  cards 
face  down  upon  the  board.  The  men,  as  they 
came,  went  one  by  one  around  back  of  Latimer- 
Moire  and  looked  into  his  hand.  Nearly  all  of 
them  laughed  when  they  saw  it.  "  Let's  see 
what  you've  got,  Gildy?"  said  Stirling  West,  over 
Gilderman's  shoulder. 

240 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

"No,  by  George!"  said  Gilderman,  without 
looking  around.  He  put  his  hand  over  his  cards 
as  he  spoke.  "I'm  playing  this  hand  alone,"  he 
said,  "and  I'll  play  it  till  the  crack  of  doom,  if 
need  be."  As  he  spoke  another  sudden,  dull 
spark  of  apprehension  passed  through  his  heart. 
What  if  Latimer-Moire  should  have  four  kings, 
after  all? 

The  betting  went  on  and  on,  and  now  there 
was  perfect  silence. 

"  Look  here,  old  fellow,"  burst  out  Gilderman, 
at  last,  ' '  I  tell  you  plainly  you're  up  against  an 
almost  certain  thing.  I  don't  want  to  win  your 
money,  but  I'm  not  going  to  give  in  as  long  as 
you  keep  at  it." 

u  You  haven't  won  your  money  yet,  my  boy," 
cried  Latimer-Moire.  "  Don't  you  worry  about 
me;  I'll  look  after  myself,"  and  a  general  laugh 
went  around  the  table. 

One  or  two  more  bets  were  made,  and  then 
Gilderman  called  the  game. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  keep  it  up  till 
the  crack  of  doom,"  said  Latimer-Moire. 

"It's  on  your  account  I  call  the  game,"  said 
Gilderman.  "  Let's  see  what  you've  got." 

Latimer-Moire  laid  down  a  card.  It  was  the 
ace  of  clubs.  He  couldn't  have  four  aces,  for  Gil 
derman  had  one.  What  was  it  he  had?  What  if 
16  241 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

he  had  four  kings?  Gilderman  held  his  breath. 
Then  his  heart  gave  a  bound  and  he  knew  that 
he  had  won.  Latimer-Moire  laid  down  a  knave. 
Three  more  knaves  followed,  laid  down  upon  the 
table  one  by  one.  What  triumph !  What  glory ! 
Gilderman  held  his  cards  firmly  in  his  hand.  His 
impulse  was  to  pretend  that  he  was  beaten. 
"Well,  well!"  he  said,  trying  to  infuse  all  the 
disappointment  he  could  into  his  voice,  "who 
would  have  believed  you  would  draw  four  cards 
and  get  four  jacks  by  it?  Well,  well!" 

"  Let's  see  what  you've  got,  Gildy,"  said  West. 

But  still  Gilderman  lingered.  The  triumph 
was  very,  very  sweet  under  the  tongue  of  his 
soul.  "Four  jacks!"  he  repeated.  "Well,  well, 
well!" 

"Oh,  show  up  your  hand,  Gilderman!"  called 
out  a  voice  from  those  who  stood  looking  on. 

Then  Gilderman  laid  down  his  hand,  spreading 
all  the  cards  face  up  upon  the  green  baize  table 
cloth. 

There  was  a  moment  or  two  of  silence  and  then 
almost  a  roar  of  laughter.  Stirling  West  fetched 
Gilderman  a  tremendous  clap  upon  the  shoulder. 
" Gildy 's  luck  forever!"  he  cried  out.  Latimer- 
Moire  joined  the  laugh  against  himself,  but  very 
constrainedly.  Gilderman  relit  his  cigar,  which 
had  gone  out.  His  hand  was  chill  and  trembled 
242 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

in  spite  of  himself.  He  assumed  an  air  of  perfect 
calmness  and  indifference,  but  his  bosom  was 
swelling  and  heaving  with  triumph.  Then  he 
pushed  back  his  chair  and  arose. 

"Hold  on,  Gildy!"  cried  out  Latimer- Moire. 
"  Ain't  you  going  to  give  me  a  chance  to  win  my 
money  back?" 

"Not  to-night,"  said  Gilderman;  "some  other 
time  maybe,  my  boy,  but  I  can't  spoil  such  luck 
by  playing  another  hand  to-night,  old  fellow." 

"  Why,  confound  it — hold  on,  Gilderman,  you 
can't  go  away  without  giving  me  some  show. 
Just  a  couple  more  hands." 

"Not  to-night,"  said  Gilderman,  and  then  he 
walked  away  with  Stirling  West.  Pilate  had 
come  to  the  table  and  was  standing  looking  down 
at  the  cards  that  still  lay  face  up  upon  the  board. 
Some  one  was  explaining  the  game  to  him. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  "I've  been  playing  the  game  for 
about  forty  years  now  and  I  don't  think  I  ever 
saw  a  piece  of  luck  like  that.  Four  queens 
against  four  jacks!" 

Gilderman,  as  he  walked  away,  heard  the  words 
and  his  bosom  swelled  with  a  still  bigger  load  of 
triumph.  As  he  whirled  home  in  the  electric  cab 
he  lay  back  in  the  leather  cushions  and  gave  him 
self  up  to  the  delight  of  his  triumph.  He  was 
filled  full  with  a  great  and  pervading  joy.  That 

243 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

last  queen!  What  a  delicious  shock  when  he 
turned  up  the  card  and  saw  what  it  was !  What 
a  glorious  piece  of  luck!  And  then  he  thought, 
what  should  he  do  with  the  money  ?  He  did  not 
want  Latimer-Moire's  money.  He  would  hand 
it  over  to  the  bishop ;  that  was  what  he  would  do. 
Suppose  he  gave  it  to  that  one-armed  fellow  the 
bishop  had  spoken  about  the  other  day.  No ;  it 
was  too  much  to  give  in  a  lump  to  a  poor  devil 
like  that.  He  revolted  somehow  from  the 
thought  of  doing  that;  he  would  hand  it  over 
to  the  bishop. 

Presently  the  cab  stopped  at  the  sidewalk  in 
front  of  his  own  home.  The  chauffeur  jumped 
down  and  opened  the  door  and  Gilderman  stepped 
out.  He  lingered  for  a  little  while  after  the  cab 
had  whirled  away  into  the  darkness.  The  night 
was  very  mild  and  pleasant,  and  the  moon  was 
beautiful.  So  he  stood  for  a  while  smoking  his 
cigar,  thinking  of  his  luck  and  feeling  very  happy. 
The  white  clouds  of  smoke  drifted  pallidly  away 
in  the  milky  moonlight. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  disturbance  some  little 
distance  up  the  street,  and  a  lot  of  figures  came 
out  from  the  park.  Then  they  came  marching 
down  the  sidewalk.  Even  in  the  distance  Gilder 
man  could  see  the  gleam  of  brass  buttons  and  of 
official  badges,  and  he  knew  that  they  had  been 

244 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

making  some  arrest.  As  the  crowd  approached, 
Gilderman  walked  slowly  up  the  broad  stone 
steps  to  the  wide  vestibule  above.  The  porter 
opened  the  door  at  his  coming,  but  Gilderman 
did  not  immediately  enter.  He  stood  upon  the 
top  step  smoking  a  last  puff  or  two  at  his  cigar 
before  he  threw  it  away,  and  watching,  with  a 
sort  of  idle  curiosity,  for  the  crowd  to  go  past  on 
the  other  side  of  the  street.  Presently  they  were 
there,  passing  under  the  wide  aureola  of  light  of 
the  double  cluster  of  electric  lamps  at  the  curb. 

Then  Gilderman  saw  who  it  was  that  they  had 
arrested — it  was  He. 

Gilderman  could  not  see  whether  He  had  hand 
cuffs  upon  the  wrists,  but  two  policemen  walked 
one  upon  each  side  of  Him.  Two  or  three  police 
men  came  behind  them,  and  there  was  quite  a 
crowd  of  men  besides,  one  of  them  with  his  head 
tied  up  in  a  bloody  cloth.  As  they  came  under 
the  circle  of  light  one  face  was  turned  and  looked 
straight  at  Gilderman.  The  features  appeared 
to  be  calm  and  emotionless.  There  was  no  hat 
upon  the  head,  and  Gilderman  was  almost  sure 
he  saw  red  drops  of  moisture,  as  of  sweat,  shining 
on  His  brow.  Then  they  had  gone  by  and  Gil 
derman  stood  looking  after  them.  The  hall  por 
ter  had  also  come  farther  out  into  the  vestibule 
to  see  the  crowd  as  it  passed  by. 
245 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

As  Gilderman  stood  gazing  after  the  departing 
figures  another  figure  came  down  the  street,  this 
time  upon  the  same  side  as  that  on  which  he 
stood.  It  was  a  man  walking  rather  close  to  the 
curb.  Presently  he  also  came  within  the  circle 
of  light  directly  in  front  of  the  house.  He  seemed 
to  shrink  for  a  moment  and  then  walked  out  into 
the  street.  He  looked  up  quickly  towards  Gil 
derman  as  he  passed,  and  then  Gilderman  rec 
ognized  him.  He  was  that  one  of  the  disciples 
whom  he  remembered  having  seen  a  few  days 
before — the  short,  thick-set  man  with  the  bald 
head  and  curly  hair  and  beard.  He  turned  his 
face  towards  Gilderman  as  he  passed.  Gilder 
man  came  partly  down  the  steps.  "  Stop  a  min 
ute,  my  man,"  he  said ;  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

The  man  hesitated  for  an  instant  and  then 
stood  still.  He  hung  back  in  the  partial  dark 
ness  of  the  street,  and  as  Gilderman  approached 
he  seemed  to  shrink  back  farther  still. 

"Was  that  your  Master  who  went  by  just 
now?"  asked  Gilderman. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man. 

"Where  are  they  going  to  take  Him?"  asked 
Gilderman. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  man;  "  I  didn't  have 
time  to  ask." 

He  was  looking  furtively  down  the  street.  The 
246 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

crowd  had  disappeared  in  the  distance,  but  Gil- 
derman  could  hear  the  sound  of  voices  and  the 
tread  of  feet  far  away.  There  was  just  a  flitting 
glimpse  of  them  as  they  passed  under  a  circle  of 
light  a  block  or  so  away. 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ?"  asked  Gilderman. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  man.  "  I'm  going  to 
see  where  they  take  Him." 

He  stepped  farther  back  into  the  street  as  he 
spoke.  He  lingered  for  a  moment  and  then 
turned  and  went  away  in  the  direction  the  others 
had  taken.  After  he  had  gone  a  little  distance 
he  began  running.  Gilderman  could  hear  his 
footsteps  passing  away  down  the  street  farther 
and  farther.  He  saw  a  glimpse  of  his  figure  flit 
ting  under  a  corner  lamp,  and  then  he  was  gone. 

So  it  is  that  the  life  of  that  young  man  came 
just  within  touch  of  the  agony  suffered  alone  in 
the  darkness  of  the  garden.  So  it  is  that  we  all 
of  us,  rich  in  our  possessions  of  happiness  and  of 
wealth,  live  each  his  life,  unconscious  of  the  di 
vine  travail  going  on  beneath  until  suddenly  the 
end  of  all  comes  and  we  stand  face  to  face  with 
that  which  has  been  done.  So  it  is  that,  all  un 
consciously  to  us,  beneath  the  thin  and  crackling 
shell  of  mundane  life,  God  is  working  out  His 
end  and  we  know  nothing  of  it. 

247 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

We  laugh,  we  sing,  we  dance,  we  love,  we  hate, 
we  triumph  and  strive  for  joys  that  turn  to  ashes 
in  the  mouth,  and  all  the  time  the  divine  phe 
nomenon  of  life  is  working  out  its  completion  be 
neath  those  shadowy  appearances  of  things  real. 
Now  and  then,  maybe,  like  this  young  man,  we 
suddenly  come  face  to  face  with  the  Divine  Hu 
manity  and  maybe  feel  the  soul  quake  at  His 
presence.  Then  the  face  passes  by  and  we  see 
it  and  think  of  it  no  more  except  as  an  incident. 

As  Gilderman  turned  and  went  up  into  his 
warm  and  well-lighted  house,  filled  with  its  rich 
ness  and  delectabilities,  he  wondered  passively 
what  would  be  done  to  the  Man;  what  would 
be  the  end  of  it  all  with  Him.  The  baby  was 
awake  and  crying,  and  as  Gilderman  went  to  his 
room  he  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  silently 
moving  nurse  passing  across  the  dim  upper  hall. 

Oh,  the  triumph  of  finding  that  a  fourth  queen 
had  been  dealt  him!  Four  queens!  He  saw 
just  how  that  queen  of  clubs  had  looked  when 
he  turned  it  up.  How  the  fellows  had  roared 
when  he  showed  his  hand ! 

He  looked  at  his  watch  as  he  wound  it  up.  It 
was  half -past  two  o'clock. 


XVII 

THE    END    OF    THE    WORLD 

A^D  so  came  the  end.  As  all  the  world  knows, 
we  fulfilled  our  allotted  mission  and  crucified 
the  Truth. 

Caiaphas  was  a  merciful  man — kind,  gentle, 
and  with  a  very  loving  heart.  But  his  religion 
was  cruel,  relentless,  and  devoid  of  mercy.  Ac 
cording  to  his  creed,  all  men  who  disobeyed  the 
laws  of  social  order  suffered  eternal  punishment 
as  a  penalty  forever  and  forever  in  the  life  to 
come.  Also,  according  to  that  creed,  all  men 
were  in  danger  unless  they  believed  the  almost 
unbelievable  things  of  Scripture.  He  himself 
would  not  have  tortured  or  tormented  a  mouse 
for  doing  wrong  or  for  going  astray,  but  he  as 
sented,  almost  with  equanimity,  to  the  monstrous 
assertion  that  God  Almighty  would  torture  and 
torment  a  man  forever  and  forever  for  sin  or  for 
disbelief. 

It  is  strange  that  the  religion  of  such  a  good 
man  as  Caiaphas  should  be  of  such  a  monstrous 

249 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

sort;  it  is  still  more  strange  that  such  doctrines 
should  have  appeared  to  him  not  only  to  be  sa 
cred  and  holy  beyond  measure,  but  to  be  the 
actual  foundation  of  existing  social  order. 

Nevertheless,  such  he  held  to  be  the  case,  and 
his  dogmas  appeared  to  him  to  be  singularly 
sacred.  For  his  religion  he  was  cheerfully  ready 
to  sacrifice  his  own  life  or  the  life  of  another  man. 

Whether  he  reasoned  about  the  matter  or  did 
not  reason  about  it  the  fact  remained  that  that 
dreadful  thing  was  his  religious  creed,  and  when 
he  deemed  it  in  danger  of  overthrow  he  fulmi 
nated  that  terrible  saying:  "  It  is  better  that  one 
man  should  die  rather  than  that  a  whole  nation 
should  perish." 

So  the  one  Man  died,  and  the"  nation,  having 
fulfilled  its  mission,  perished  also  as  a  nation. 

When  Christ  yielded  up  the  spirit  it  was  said 
that  the  sun  was  darkened  and  the  earth  shook 
and  the  veil  of  the  Temple  was  rent  in  twain. 
But  we  —  priests  and  Levites,  scribes  and  phar- 
isees — saw  nothing  of  that.  That  cataclysm  was 
seen  only  by  the  few  who  saw  with  the  eyes  of 
the  spirit.  To  us  the  burning  sun  rode  as  ma 
jestically  as  ever;  to  us  the  earth  stood  firm;  to 
us  that  Temple  of  Faith  (that  was  never  to  be 
completed)  stood  also  firm  upon  its  foundations. 

250 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

We  came  and  went  about  our  daily  business, 
unconscious  that  anything  had  happened.  For 
so  it  is,  we  see  and  think  only  of  the  things  of  the 
earth ;  for  so  it  is  that  there  is  to  us  no  other  light 
than  the  light  of  the  sun  of  this  world,  no  other 
things  than  the  things  of  this  mundane  universe 
—beyond  these  all  is  void  and  darkness.  These 
mundane  things  stood  firm  and  unshaken  when 
the  Son  of  Man  yielded  up  the  spirit,  and  only 
those  who  saw  beneath  the  shell  of  things  beheld 
the  darkness  and  the  terror. 

A  poor  carpenter  had  died  that  the  Law  and 
the  Gospel  might  be  preserved,  and  a  few  rough 
fishermen — a  few  poor,  ignorant,  superstitious 
outcasts  thought  that  they  saw  the  flaming  orb 
of  day  turned  into  a  smoky  blackness ;  that  they 
felt  the  earth  strain  and  crack  beneath  their  feet ; 
that  they  beheld  the  bulwarks  of  religion  split  in 
twain  from  top  to  bottom. 

Gilderman  was  worried  that  morning  because 
the  baby  had  caught  cold.  The  day  was  pleas 
ant  and  the  sun  shone  brightly.  Do  you  think 
he  would  have  believed  you  if  you  had  told  him, 
in  the  midst  of  his  worries,  that  the  most  tremen 
dous  cataclysm  of  the  world  was  about  to  occur  ? 

He  felt  a  great  sense  of  relief  when  Dr.  Wel 
lington  entered  the  study.  "I'm  so  glad  you've 
come,"  said  Gilderman,  and  the  two  shook  hands 
251 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

almost  cordially.     At  that  same  moment  the  old 
world  came  to  an  end  and  a  new  world  began. 

So  the  annihilation  of  the  ages  was  beheld  by 
the  scribes,  the  pharisees,  the  priests,  Levites, 
and  Romans. 


XVIII 

THE    SPIRIT    AND    THE    FLESH 

WHEN  men  have  slain  the  Living  Truth  and  a 
new  age  has  arisen  from  its  death,  the  world 
still  rolls  onward  in  its  course  and  mankind  does 
not  know  that  anything  has  happened.  Chil 
dren  are  born  into  the  world,  men  and  women  are 
married,  others  die,  and  only  a  few  poor,  lowly 
ones  know  the  significance  of  that  death  and 
resurrection.  Thus  it  must  ever  be.  In  the 
outer  world  there  is  no  sign;  each  man  pursues 
his  own  business  and  pleasure  with  just  the  same 
avidity  as  though  God's  Truth  had  not  perished 
in  the  flesh  to  rise  again  into  the  glory  of  resur 
rection. 

Yea;  judgment-day  may  come  and  the  angel 
may  blow  his  trumpet  until  the  earth  shall  crack 
and  heaven  itself  shall  tremble,  but  the  ears  of 
man  are  deaf  to  the  blast  and  his  eyes  are  blind 
to  the  terrors  that  overhang  the  soul.  In  his  ears 
are  stoppers  of  clay  and  over  his  eyes  is  a  film  of 
flesh,  and  neither  sound  nor  sight  can  reach  him. 

253 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

What  wonder,  then,  that  men  not  only  deny 
their  Creator  and  their  Redeemer,  but  even  re 
fuse  to  believe  that  the  soul  within  them  is  alive. 
To  them  the  body  seems  alive  and  not  the  soul ; 
to  them  it  seems  as  though  this  world  is  the  end 
of  everything. 

Mrs.  Gilderman,  though  she  had  not  recovered 
from  her  confinement  with  the  rapidity  that  a 
washerwoman  might  have  done  under  the  same 
circumstances,  was,  nevertheless,  so  nearly  quite 
well  by  the  end  of  the  month  as  to  be  able  to  be 
down-stairs  and  about  the  house.  She  did  not 
go  much  abroad.  Maybe  on  a  fine  afternoon  she 
would  take  a  spin  in  the  park  in  the  automobile 
or  out  along  the  river,  but  she  did  not  go  shop 
ping,  and  was  yet  watched  by  her  nurse  with  the 
jealous  care  due  to  a  convalescent  patient  of  such 
pre-eminent  importance.  But,  though  she  did 
not  go  abroad,  her  friends  came  to  see  her,  and 
she  often  held  receptions  in  her  own  room  with 
tea  and  wafers,  maybe,  and  a  babble  of  femi 
nine  chatter.  She  was  conscious  that  her  im 
ported  blue  tea-gown  was  vastly  becoming  to 
her  blond  beauty,  and  she  made  the  most  of  it, 
lying  back  in  a  nest  of  blue  silk,  silver-embroid 
ered  cushions. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  she  made  Gilder- 
254 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

man  promise  to  have  his  portrait  painted.  "  I 
want  Reginald  to  have  it  to  say,"  she  said,  "  that 
that  is  the  way  my  father  looked  in  the  year  that 
I  was  born." 

So  Gilderman  had  commissioned  Norcott  to 
paint  a  full-length  portrait  of  himself  with  a  bit 
of  realistic  background  showing  a  glimpse  of  the 
famous  Cyprian  Adonis  fragment.  No  one  living 
could  do  those  little  realistic  bits  of  background 
as  could  Norcott. 

During  this  same  month  the  Biddington-De 
Vaux  wedding  was  to  come  off  at  the  national 
capital — Arabella  Stewart  Biddington  and  Lord 
George  De  Vaux,  an  attache  to  a  foreign  em 
bassy.  Gilderman,  on  the  score  of  relationship 
to  Miss  Biddington,  had,  of  course,  to  go.  That 
same  day  he  was  also  to  give  a  sitting  to  Norcott. 
He  was  growing  very  tired  of  these  sittings. 
There  had  been  a  great  many  of  them,  for  Nor 
cott  was  endeavoring  to  make  the  work  a  chef- 
d'oeuvre.  At  first  Gilderman  had  been  very  much 
interested  in  the  artist,  his  surroundings,  and 
the  studio  in  which  he  worked.  Not  only  had 
Norcott  much  to  say  for  himself,  but  he  had  col 
lected  about  him  an  enormous  amount  of  bric-a- 
brac,  rugs,  tapestries,  and  hangings.  You  would 
have  pronounced  the  anteroom  to  the  studio  to 
have  been  cluttered  were  the  things  gathered 
255 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

there  less  fine  and  interesting  than  they  were. 
The  studio  itself  was  a  great,  high-ceilinged  room 
with  a  big  skylight.  There  was  more  bric-k-brac, 
rugs,  tapestries  here,  but  in  the  wider  spaces  they 
did  not  seem  so  crowded  together  as  in  the  ante 
room.  Gilderman  had  become  pretty  well  ac 
quainted  with  all  these  surroundings  by  now,  and 
they  were  no  longer  so  interesting  to  him  as  they 
had  been  at  first.  He  sat  there  in  the  morning 
of  the  Biddington-De  Vaux  wedding  feeling  rath 
er  bored.  He  had  to  take  the  trip  to  the  capital 
in  the  afternoon,  too.  That  also  was  a  bore  in 
prospect. 

The  outer  door  of  the  reception-room  of  Nor- 
cott's  studio  was  so  arranged  that  when  it  opened 
a  chime  of  bells  was  rung.  Norcott  was  working 
silently  and  industriously  and  Gilderman  was  sit 
ting  thinking  about  the  nuisance  of  the  impend 
ing  journey,  when  suddenly  the  chime  of  bells 
rang  out  upon  the  silence  of  the  studio.  Pres 
ently  Norcott' s  Moorish  servant  came  bringing 
in  a  card.  Norcott  looked  at  it.  "It's  Santley 
Foord,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  he  said.  "Would  you 
like  him  to  come  in?  He's  a  very  interesting 
fellow,  and  it  might  entertain  you." 

' '  Santley  Foord  ? ' '  said  Gilderman .  And  then , 
remembering  the  name:  "Oh  yes;  he's  the  fel 
low  who  wrote  and  illustrated  those  very  inter- 

256 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

esting  articles  about  the  West-China  imbroglio 
for  the  Mundane  Sphere,  is  he  not?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  man." 

"I'd  be  very  glad  to  meet  him,"  said  Gilder- 
man,  welcoming  any  break  in  the  monotony  of 
the  sitting. 

Then  Santley  Foord  came  in.  He  was  a  lively, 
brisk  little  man,  with  a  face  burned  russet-brown 
by  the  sun,  a  mustache  nearly  white,  and  very 
light,  closely  cropped  gray  hair.  He  had  a  strong 
jaw  and  chin,  and  his  little  eyes  were  as  bright 
and  as  black  as  beads  and  danced  and  twinkled 
and  were  never  still  for  a  moment.  Norcott  in 
troduced  Gilderman,  who  bowed  with  a  manner 
that  was  very  urbane.  Santley  Foord  was  evi 
dently  extremely  gratified  by  the  introduction. 

"  I  was  very  much  interested  in  your  West- 
China  articles,"  said  Gilderman.  "  It  seemed  to 
me  that  your  sketches  were  strikingly  clever, 
too.  That  one  with  the  dead  bodies  lying  on 
the  snow  and  the  flock  of  crows  around  them 
and  the  long  line  of  road  cut  through  the  snow 
and  stretching  away  to  the  distance  against  the 
gray  sky  impressed  me  extremely." 

"  I  am  highly  flattered  that  you  should  have 
noticed  it,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  said  Ford.  "  One  can 
always  get  a  capital  effect  of  snow  in  reproduc 
tive  process.  And  then,  I  suppose,  the  subject 
17  257 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

was  very  fetching.  I  stood  there  in  the  snow 
sketching  the  scene  over  the  back  of  my  Tartar 
pony,  with  the  sketch-book  resting  on  the  sad 
dle,  while  my  two  Kalmuck  men  brewed  some 
tea  in  a  deserted  hut  at  the  road-side."  Then 
he  began  describing  incidental  scenes  connect 
ed  with  the  circumstances  of  the  massacre.  He 
talked  well,  and  Gilderman  listened  much  inter 
ested. 

From  this  subject,  at  a  question  from  Norcott, 
the  narrator  branched  out  into  his  experience  in 
a  Tartar  village.  He  described  his  introduction 
to  a  fat  old  Tartar  chief,  and  he  mimicked  the 
obese  Oriental  with  an  almost  startling  vivid 
ness.  Gilderman  laughed  heartily,  and  as  he 
did  so  he  registered  in  his  own  mind  that  he 
would  give  a  man's  dinner-party  and  would  ask 
Santley  Foord.  It  would  be  very  entertaining. 
How  Stirling  West  would  enjoy  the  fellow. 

"But,  after  all,"  said  Foord,  "you  don't  have 
to  go  out  to  the  far  East  to  find  such  things.  I've 
come  across  a  mine  of  interest  here  that  nobody 
seems  to  know  or  to  think  anything  about.  Did 
you,  for  instance,  know  that  the  disciples  of  that 
carpenter,  about  whom  there  was  so  much  talk 
awhile  ago,  are  still  living  here  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  city,  a  community  in  themselves?  They 
claim  to  have  had  supernatural  experiences  and 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

to  have  seen  visions  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
They  have  strange  religious  ceremonies  and  meet 
ings,  in  which  they  appear  to  go  off  into  a  trance 
state,  and  a  good  many  of  the  poor  people  among 
whom  they  live  believe  all  that  they  say  to  be  a 
bona-fide  fact." 

"  I  thought  all  that  trouble  was  over  and  done 
with  now,"  said  Gilderman. 

"  Oh  no,  indeed.  Why,  I'm  going  to  meet 
Dolan — Inspector  Dolan,  you  know — at  eleven 
o'clock  to-day,  and  we're  going  down  to  a  meeting 
that  those  people  are  going  to  hold  this  morning. 
I'm  going  to  make  a  sketch  of  it.  They  are  quite 
the  most  interesting  thing  I  have  come  across  for 
a  long  time,  and  I  think  the  world  will  be  rather 
struck  to  find  that  these  strange  folk  are  living  in 
its  very  midst  without  its  knowing  anything  at 
all  about  them." 

"  Really!"  said  Gilderman.  And  then,  after  a 
moment  of  pause :  "  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Foord,  I'd 
like  immensely  to  go  with  you  and  Dolan  and  see 
these  people." 

Santley  Foord  laughed.  "Well,  Mr.  Gilder 
man,  to  tell  you  the  honest  truth,  I  don't  believe 
you  would  like  it  very  much.  The  surroundings 
are  not  especially  pleasant.  I've  got  used  to  all 
those  kinds  of  sights  and  smells  by  this  time.  One 
gets  used  to  no  end  of  such  things  knocking  about 
259 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

on  the  rough  side  of  the  world,  but  I  don't  believe 
you'd  like  it." 

Gilderman  laughed  in  answer.  "  I  don't  know 
that  I  would  especially  like  the  sights  and  smells," 
he  said,  "but  I'd  like  very  much  to  see  what 
these  poor  people  are  doing."'  And  then,  after 
a  brief  second  of  hesitation,  he  continued :  "  Such 
things  interest  me  very  much.  I  saw  the  Man 
Himself  two  or  three  times  while  He  was  alive, 
and  spoke  to  Him  once  face  to  face.  He  im 
pressed  me  very  singularly." 

"  Did  He,  indeed?"  said  Santley  Foord. 

Gilderman  had  found  it  very  hard  one  time  to 
confess  this  to  his  wife.  It  had  not  been  so 
hard  to  repeat  the  narrative  in  part  to  Stirling 
West,  and  since  then  he  had  described  the  scene 
in  the  cemetery  several  times  to  friends  who 
had  asked  him  about  it.  He  described  it  now, 
growing  conscious  as  he  did  so  of  how  flat  his 
narrative  was  compared  to  the  clever  way  in 
which  Foord  would  have  told  the  story. 

Foord  listened  very  interestedly.  "  By  Jove !" 
he  said,  when  Gilderman  had  ended,  "  I  would 
have  given  a  deal  to  see  that,  Mr.  Gilderman. 
It  beats  anything  I  ever  saw  down  in  India,  and 
I've  seen  some  very  strange  things  there,  too." 
Then  he  began  a  vivid  description  of  the  old 
trick :  how  he  had  once  seen  some  jugglers  put  a 

260 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

woman  under  a  basket  that  was  just  big  enough 
to  cover  her,  and  of  how  one  of  the  Indians  had 
run  the  basket  through  and  through  with  a 
sword.  His  description  of  the  woman's  screams 
and  of  the  trick  blood  that  flowed  from  under 
the  basket  and  over  the  hot,  white  stones  of  the 
pavement  was  almost  horribly  startling,  and  Gil- 
derman,  as  he  listened,  again  registered  a  deter 
mination  that  he  would  ask  Santley  Foord  to  a 
man's  dinner  some  time  in  the  near  future. 

After  a  while  Foord  arose  from  where  he  was 
sitting  and  sauntered  around  the  room,  looking 
at  some  of  the  pictures  and  sketches.  Then, 
having  completed  his  inspection,  he  said,  in  his 
almost  abrupt  fashion:  "Well,  it's  time  to  go 
around  to  the  St.  George.  If  you  really  care  to 
go  with  us  to  see  these  people,  Mr.  Gilderman, 
I'll  be  glad  to  take  you  along." 

"I'd  like  to  see  them,"  said  Gilderman,  "but 
I  don't  know  whether  Norcott's  through  with  me 
yet." 

"Just  give  me  five  minutes  more,  Mr.  Gilder 
man,"  said  Norcott,  "  and  then  we'll  call  the  sit 
ting  off  for  the  day." 

Gilderman  took  Foord  around  to  the  St.  George 
with  him  in  his  automobile,  and  they  got  out  to 
gether  and  entered  the  wide,  marble-flagged  ves 
tibule  almost  arm-in-arm.  They  found  Inspector 

261 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

Dolan  already  there  and  waiting.  He  was  sitting 
on  one  of  the  leather-covered  seats  that  stood 
along  the  wall  and  was  talking  to  a  stranger. 
He  arose  as  Gilderman  and  Foord  came  in, 
and  he  looked  distinctly  surprised  to  see  Gil 
derman. 

"Mr.  Gilderman  wants  to  go  along  with  us," 
said  Foord,  and  then  the  inspector  laughed. 

Gilderman  ordered  an  electric  coach,  and  as 
they  whirled  away  down -town  he  offered  his 
cigarette-case  to  his  companions. 

"  I  don't  think  I've  seen  you,  inspector,"  he 
said,  "since  that  man  sold  his  Master  to  the 
bishop  that  day.  Whatever  became  of  him  ?  I 
wonder  if  he  ever  felt  sorry  for  what  he  had 
done." 

' '  Sorry !' '  said  the  inspector — ' '  sorry !  I  should 
think  so.  The  officers  found  his  dead  body  hang 
ing  to  a  tree  the  day  after  the  execution." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Gilderman,  "I  remember  now 
reading  an  account  of  it.  But  I  did  not  know  it 
was  that  man  who  hanged  himself." 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  was  the  man." 

The  coach  stopped  in  a  narrow  and  dirty 
street.  Then  they  all  got  out  and  walked  for 
some  little  distance  down  the  paved  court  until 
the  inspector  at  last  turned  into  an  alleyway. 

The  alley  opened  into  another  paved  court,  and 
262 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

here  Gilderman  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  the 
sights  and  smells  of  which  Santley  Foord  had 
spoken.  There  were  two  or  three  rather  dilapi 
dated  houses  looking  down  upon  the  court.  They 
were  shabby,  squalid-looking  piles,  and  overhead, 
from  house  to  house,  were  stretched  clothes-lines, 
with  clothes  hanging  out  to  dry,  motionless  in 
the  dull,  heavy  air.  The  court  was  paved  with 
cobble-stones,  and  here  and  there  water  had 
settled  in  stagnant  puddles.  There  were  a 
couple  of  ash -barrels  standing  by  one  of  the 
houses,  piled  high  with  ashes  and  scraps  of 
refuse. 

The  inspector  led  the  way  directly  to  one  of  the 
houses.  He  put  his  hand  upon  the  knob  of  the 
door  and  turned  it  very  softly.  Then  he  opened 
it  and  entered  with  Gilderman  and  Foord  at  his 
heels. 

Gilderman  found  himself  in  a  dark,  narrow 
en  try  way.  The  walls  of  the  entry  had  that  pecul 
iar,  greasy  look  that  seems  always  to  belong  to 
houses  of  the  poorer  sort,  and  there  was  every 
where  a  rank  and  pervading  smell.  As  the  in 
spector  closed  the  door,  another  door  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  entry  opened  and  a  stout 
woman,  unmistakably  Jewish  in  appearance, 
stood  framed  in  the  space  of  light  behind.  She 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  with  a 

263 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

sharp,    rasping   voice:   "What    do   you    want? 
What  are  you  doing  here?" 

The  inspector  walked  directly  along  the  pas 
sageway  towards  her.  "  That's  all  right,  Sarah," 
he  said.  "  It's  Inspector  Dolan." 

"  What's  the  matter  now?"  said  the  woman. 
"  I  'ain't  been  doing  no  harm." 

"  There's  nothing  the  matter  at  all,  only  these 
two  gentlemen  here  want  to  go  up-stairs  to  see 
your  friends  on  the  third  floor." 

"  There  ain't  nobody  up  on  the  third  floor," 
said  the  woman,  sullenly;  "they  'ain't  been  here 
for  a  couple  of  days." 

The  inspector  laughed.  "That's  all  right, 
Sarah,"  he  said.  "  We'll  go  up  and  look  for  our 
selves.  Just  you  stay  down  here.  And  don't 
you  go  kicking  up  a  row,"  he  added,  turning 
suddenly  stern  in  his  demeanor. 

The  woman  shrunk  back  as  though  threatened 
with  a  lash,  but  she  did  not  go  entirely  away. 
She  partly  followed  them  and  then  stood  watch 
ing  with  a  sort  of  impotent  sullenness  as  they 
went  up-stairs,  the  inspector  leading  the  way. 

Gilderman  was  nearly  overpowered  by  the 
close,  heavy  atmosphere  of  the  house.  His  com 
panions  did  not  seem  to  think  anything  of  it 
at  all,  and  he  knew  that  the  people  who  lived 
every  day  in  that  atmosphere  would  not  be  aware 

264 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

of  its  close  fetor.  Surroundings  of  this  sort  were 
infinitely  distasteful  to  him,  but  since  he  had 
come  so  far  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
go  on  to  the  end. 

As  the  three  climbed  the  stairs  Gilderman  be 
came  aware  of  a  strange,  droning,  sing-song  sort 
of  chant,  or  rather  mummer,  that  grew  louder 
and  louder  as  they  ascended.  He  found  it  came 
from  one  of  the  rooms  on  the  third  floor.  The 
inspector  led  the  way  directly  to  the  door  of  this 
room,  and  Santley  Foord  turned  and  said  to  Gil 
derman:  "It's  those  people  you  hear,  and,  by 
George!  Mr.  Gilderman,  we're  in  luck;  they're 
about  some  of  their  religious  ceremonies  this 
minute.  I  hope  you'll  be  able  to  see  some  of 
them  in  a  trance  state." 

The  inspector  stood  for  a  while  with  his  hand 
upon  the  knob  as  though  listening.  Then  he 
said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I'll  wait  outside  here." 

"Is  it  perfectly  safe?"  asked  Gilderman,  in 
stinctively  lowering  his  voice  to  the  same  pitch 
as  that  in  which  the  inspector  spoke. 

"Lord  bless  you!  yes,  Mr.  Gilderman,"  said 
Dolan;  "  they're  as  harmless  as  mice." 

Then  he  opened  the  door  and  Foord  stepped 

into  the  room,  closely  followed  by  Gilderman. 

There  were  maybe  a  dozen  or  so  men  in  the 

crowded  space.     The  room  was  very  close  and 

265 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

hot.  Some  of  the  inmates  were  sitting  around 
a  deal  table ;  two  were  standing  with  their  backs 
to  a  cold  and  rusty  stove,  and  one  was  leaning 
against  the  wall,  his  face  hidden  in  his  arm,  his 
body  shaking  as  though  he  were  crying.  None 
of  them  seemed  to  be  aware  of  the  presence  of 
the  intruders,  and  then  Gilderman  saw  with  a 
shock,  almost  as  of  awe,  that  they  were  indeed 
in  a  state  as  though  of  entrancement.  The 
faces  of  all  were  transfixed,  vacant,  exalted. 
They  seemed  all  to  be  lit  with  a  singular  illu 
mination.  It  was  almost  as  though  the  faces 
were  translucent  and  illuminated  to  that  singu 
lar  roseate  brightness  by  a  light  from  behind. 
Gilderman  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  be 
fore.  By-and-by  a  feeling  akin  to  terror  began 
to  creep  over  him.  What  did  it  all  mean?  A 
strange,  groaning  murmur  coming  from  the 
breasts  of  the  men  filled  the  room  full  of  sound, 
now  rising  fuller,  almost  into  articulate  speech, 
now  quavering  away  into  a  dull  murmur.  It 
was  very  impressive — almost  awful,  to  Gilder 
man. 

If  Foord  was  at  all  impressed  he  was  too  busy 
to  yield  to  his  emotions.  He  had  taken  out 
his  sketch-book  and  was  sketching  rapidly.  In 
spector  Dolan  was  looking  over  his  shoulder 
through  the  half-open  door. 

266 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

None  of  the  three  knew  what  it  was  that  they 
had  come  so  near  to  seeing ;  for  the  crying  man 
with  his  face  hidden  against  the  wall  was  Thomas 
the  Doubter. 

Still  Foord  sketched  away  rapidly,  and  by- 
and-by  Gilderman  found  himself  becoming  in 
terested  in  the  swift,  dexterous  strokes  of  the 
pencil  and  the  quick  suggestions  of  portraiture. 
"Do  you  suppose  they  mind  you  doing  this?" 
he  whispered. 

"  Lord  bless  you,  no!"  said  Foord,  sottovoce. 
"  They  don't  see  or  know  anything  when  they're 
in  that  state." 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice  the  crying  man  lifted 
his  face  for  a  moment  from  his  hands  and  looked 
towards  Gilderman  with  strange,  filmy,  sightless 
eyes.  His  cheeks  were  drenched  with  tears. 
Gilderman  knew  that  though  the  man  looked 
towards  him  he  did  not  see  him. 

As  Gilderman  continued  down-town  towards 
the  office,  he  felt  strangely  softened  and  moved 
—strangely  impressed  by  what  he  had  just  seen. 
Again,  as  he  thought  over  it  all,  a  feeling  as  of 
awe  came  upon  him.  He  did  not  understand 
what  it  was  he  had  beheld,  but  the  impression 
lay  heavily  upon  him.  A  recollection  of  the 
morning's  scene,  accompanied  by  the  same  feel- 

267 


REJECTED    OP    MEN 

ing  of  awe  (though  less  strong  and  vivid),  re 
curred  again  to  him  that  afternoon  as  he  cross 
ed  the  river  to  embark  upon  the  other  side  for 
the  capital.  He  was  standing  in  the  bow  of 
the  ferry-boat  at  the  time  looking  out  across 
the  water.  He  had  never  seen  a  human  face 
illuminated  as  those  faces  had  been.  It  was 
as  though  the  spirit  shone  forth  and  consumed 
the  fibres  of  flesh  that  incased  it.  Was  it  then, 
indeed,  true  that  the  spirit  was  so  present  in 
every  fibre  of  flesh  that  it  could  thus  glorify  the 
human  body  to  that  strange  illumination  ?  The 
bright  surface  of  the  harbor  stretched  away  be 
fore  him,  shut  in  by  the  distant  farther  shore  of 
clustered  buildings.  A  huge  out-going  steamer 
was  ploughing  its  slow  and  monstrous  way  down 
the  river.  Gilderman  saw  everything  and  yet 
saw  nothing  as  he  stood  there  pondering  the 
remembrances  of  that  morning. 

He  suddenly  awoke  to  the  things  of  every  day 
as  the  boat  thumped  its  way  into  the  slip,  and 
he  pushed  forward  with  the  crowd  which,  as 
soon  as  it  had  poured  off  from  the  boat,  pres 
ently  spread  out  until  he  was  able  to  hurry 
through  the  waiting  -  room  of  the  depot  to  the 
train. 

His  man  met  him  at  the  gate  and  directed 
him  to  the  parlor-car,  where  Stirling  West  met 

268 


REJECTED    OF    MEN 

him.     "Hello,  Gildy!"  he  said;  "I  thought  you 
were  going  to  be  left." 

As  they  went  together  along  between  the 
rows  of  chairs  to  the  compartment  where  Tom 
De  Witt  and  his  mother  and  two  sisters  already 
sat,  Stirling  West  nudged  Gilderman  with  his 
elbow.  "Ain't  she  a  daisy!"  he  said,  in  a  whis 
per.  And  Gilderman,  looking  down,  saw  an  ex 
ceedingly  pretty  and  stylishly  dressed  blond  girl 
sitting  with  an  elderly  man  of  senatorial  ap 
pearance. 

He  felt  a  distinct  pleasure  in  the  prettiness 
of  the  girl,  and  he  looked  back  at  her  again  as 
he  was  about  to  enter  the  door  of  the  compart 
ment.  He  was  already  forgetting  what  he  had 
that  morning  seen. 


THE    END 


BY  MRS.  HUMPHRY    WARD 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


